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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096035">Hershey's Kisses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/decimare0/pseuds/lonesomehunter'>lonesomehunter (decimare0)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplygrimly/pseuds/simplygrimly'>simplygrimly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Terror In Tennessee [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captivity, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Whump, blackmarket human purchases</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:47:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/decimare0/pseuds/lonesomehunter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplygrimly/pseuds/simplygrimly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Herschel Boone has always felt the pull of the Devil deep in his soul. Even the holy waters running through the Appalachian Mountains can't seem to wash away the stains of his demons. Only the love of an angel gives him hope for redemption as he fights to keep from being dragged too deep into the flames.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Herschel Boone/Songbird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Terror In Tennessee [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hershey's Kisses Ain't So Sweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herschel Boone purchases a new friend.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNINGS:<br/>Human captivity, insulting language, references to noncon, buying/selling humans</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Herschel walked slowly down the long row of cells, taking a moment to peer through the bars of each one before humming in disapproval and moving on to the next. His eyes were sharp and calculating, taking a quick inventory of each cell with a piercing gaze and a subtle shake of his head. He grew increasingly frustrated as he got further and further down the line, his displeasure clear in the clipped responses to the backwoods slave merchant’s chatter about the contents of each cell. </p><p>“Mr. Boone, why don’tcha tell me what you wantin’. We got a whole mess o’ slaves right now an’ -”</p><p>Herschel held up a hand and fixed an icy stare on the short man with greasy, overgrown hair. “It isn’t for <em>you</em> to know what I’m looking for.” His voice was low and calm, almost gentle if not for the subtle edge of danger that seemed to linger beneath the words. “I will let you know when I see what I want.” He turned back to the cells and continued walking, ignoring the muttered apology from the unimposing man behind him. He ignored the shuffling sound of his steps trailing behind him, choosing instead to focus on finding exactly what he was searching for. </p><p>Liam heard the heavy tapping of his shoes coming down the concrete walkway between the rows of cells. He couldn’t see him yet but Liam already knew what was coming; it was another backwoods, inbred hick looking for a slave boy to chop wood and bend over to be used whenever the mood struck. Liam huffed and rolled his eyes, he crossed his arms and leaned against the hard wall at the back of his cell, eyes trained on the iron bars as he waited for the prospective buyer to come into his view. He had little patience for this process, and knowing that he would be passed over as usual only added to his annoyance. </p><p>But when Herschel came to his cell, he didn’t take a quick glance and move on like the others had. His bright blue eyes landed on Liam and he stopped. His gaze narrowed as he looked over the boy crouched at the back of his cell. Liam’s dark hair fell into his face, the shadow cast over his chocolate brown eyes making them seem almost black in the dim lighting of the cell. Herschel stared a moment too long, his lips twitching in the hint of a smile, and Liam’s stomach sank. </p><p>“Stand up,” Herschel ordered with a soft voice that sent shivers down Liam’s spine. It was deceptively gentle, almost a whisper, but left Liam with a distinct feeling that this man was not to be trifled with. </p><p>He thought for a moment, his jaw clenching as he ran through the options available to him. He could refuse and force the little man to come into his cell, he could force the dirty little asshole to <em>make</em> Liam stand. Or he could simply obey and speed the entire process along. Herschel wouldn’t want him once he saw the damage to his body anyway, no one did. Liam unfolded his arms and stood, pushing off the ground with his hands as he slowly rose to his feet. </p><p>Herschel’s lips twitched again, the smile so quick that Liam almost wasn’t sure that he saw it. But he crooked his finger at Liam and fixed him with a piercing gaze. “Come closer, into the light so I can see you.”</p><p>“Ah, Mr. Boone,” the slave merchant chimed in from behind him, exasperation laced in his voice. “You ain’t gon’ want ‘im -”</p><p>“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”</p><p>Liam glanced past Herschel, unable to suppress a smile at his visible displeasure. He looked back to find Herschel still staring at him with an expectant gaze and Liam sighed in resignation. He had already obeyed once, and he was sure that giving him a closer look would only discourage him from wanting to buy Liam anyway. He rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, crossing the line of light that cut across the cell floor so that Herschel could actually see him. Cornflower blue eyes greedily took in the sight of his exposed body, his predatory gaze lingering on his scars as his lips curled in a smile that looked entirely too pleasant to fit the situation. </p><p>“I’ll take him.” His eyes met Liam’s as he spoke, never bothering to look back at the man. </p><p>The man hesitated and ran a hand through his dirty hair as he looked up at Herschel, “Mr. Boone, he ain’t broken in yet. He still got some disobedience and defiance issues to be beaten outta ‘im. We got boys with the same looks you could -”</p><p>Herschel turned slowly, his cool demeanor almost threatening as he fixed his gaze on the little man. “I said,” he responded quietly, the slow drawl of his Tennessean accent thickened as his voice grew dark with controlled anger. “I’ll take him. <em>Your job</em> is to get his paperwork ready and get him out of this cell so I can take him home. Are we clear?” </p><p>“Uh - yes, Mr. Boone. I’ll get the shock collar and get ‘im ready.”</p><p>“We don’t need the shock collar.” Herschel looked at Liam over his shoulder, “You’ll behave, won’t you?” </p><p>Liam’s throat went dry as he forced himself to nod. He stared at the man standing on the other side of the bars. His sandy blonde hair was lazily brushed away from his face, shining with a soft sheen that Liam didn’t think should be possible in the barely-lit corridor, his beard and mustache were thick and healthy and matched his hair with a little grey at the edges of his mouth. His dark blue jeans and heather grey v-neck tee shirt were well fitted and clearly taken care of, his outfit finished with a pair of heavy brown boots that had clearly seen better days - those boots and Herschel’s well toned frame that told Liam that this man wasn’t afraid to do his own dirty work. Despite his drawling accent and casually chosen clothing, Liam could tell that this was not a man who sought out discounted products, he was not a man forced to buy damaged goods due to the high cost of perfectly trained slaves that came without a blemish upon their frail bodies. This was a man who was accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted, who wasn’t told no. </p><p>Liam’s stomach knotted as he wondered why this man had chosen him. Why, when faced with the dozens of other men surrounding him, he chose the most damaged and least obedient one of the bunch. </p><p>He opened his mouth to question Herschel but snapped it shut as the slimy man in charge of the slaves that were waiting to be sold approached with a heavy leather collar. Bile rose in his throat as he stared at it, all too aware of how badly it chafed at his neck, how heavily it settled on his collarbone, how easily it jerked him forward with each tug of a leash or chain. </p><p>Herschel held out his hand for the collar and turned to Liam. “Open the cell.”</p><p>“Mr. Boone, you’d best let me -”</p><p>“<em>I said</em> open the damn cell,” Herschel growled at him.</p><p>The man shot Liam a warning glance, his glare an acidic reminder of every time he had forced the collar around his neck, how many times he had beaten him into submission and left him battered and bleeding on the concrete floor. </p><p>The bars slid open and Herschel stepped forward. Despite not being much taller than Liam, he had an intimidating air that quickly quieted any urge he had to fight. He stopped in front of Liam, just out of arm’s reach, and stared at him for a moment, as if evaluating him one last time. </p><p>“Kneel,” he said quietly. </p><p>Liam swallowed a curse, the greasy man’s gaze still boring into him from the other side of the iron bars, and slowly lowered himself to his knees. He knew better than to look up, but he refused to lower his gaze to the floor, instead focusing the thick denim at Herschel’s knees. </p><p>“What’s your name?” </p><p>He rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his disdain for the paces he knew he was about to be put through. “339-”</p><p>“Your <em>name</em>. Not your cage number.”</p><p>Liam’s eyes snapped to Herschel’s face, trying to figure out if this was some sort of trap laid by the man who had just bought him. He kept his voice level, refusing to give any reaction to the infuriating question. “Whatever you want to call me, I guess.” </p><p>Herschel crouched down in front of him, bringing their gazes level as he studied Liam. “I want your name from before you ended up here. I know you remember it.”</p><p>“Liam.” His name slipped into the space between them, settling in the air like a dense fog as Liam waited for the inevitable punishment for acknowledging that he was anything more than a mutt in a cage. </p><p>But Herschel smiled and flicked a hair from his face. “Very well, Liam it is then.” </p><p>He slipped the collar around his neck and buckled it quickly, just a notch tighter than was comfortable, and stood. “Follow me, <em>and behave</em>,” he said sternly. “I don’t take kindly to being made to look like a fool.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "Do You Trust Me?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herschel and Liam get to know each other.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNINGS:<br/>Human captivity, brass knuckles, 'hands up' stress position, creepy/intimate whumper<br/>(If you don't know what the term whump means and would like to know, just drop me a comment!) </p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1A1nkiFF1PT2rGhlMjnSDN?si=aNydZWuPQuuFSG6CKJWQ_g">RECORD: Indian Ink by Chequerboard</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=Uwhpy5b4T_O_zTt4bS65Qg">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’ll see that I’m not an unreasonable man, Liam.” Herschel didn’t bother to look back at him, confident that Liam would remain kneeling in the center of the cold room even when given the opportunity to disobey. He hummed quietly to himself, already quite pleased with his new toy. </p><p>The sound of the record player cut through the silence; the quiet crackle of the needle on vinyl, soft plucking of fingers on guitar strings, a soothing melody that spread through the air around them and somehow darkened the room. The music hung in the air like a heavy fog, cloaking them in a haze that obscured their vision and left them unsure of their proximity to one another.</p><p>Liam watched warily, his eyes tracking every movement as Herschel lovingly wiped a bit of dust from the record player and traced his fingers along the wood edge at its front. “I won’t require much from you,” his voice was low but pronounced, demanding Liam’s attention despite having his back to him. “Only your obedience. And <em>trust</em> - your complete, unwavering trust. Two very small things, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Liam said through gritted teeth, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Tiny, miniscule things. I’d be happy to just hand that over to you.” </p><p>Herschel’s lips curled in a small smile, a sly hint of amusement crossing his features as he folded his arms over his chest and turned around to look at Liam. His gaze was heavy, blue eyes set on him with a cold stare that felt like ice was being pressed to Liam’s skin. Liam shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wary of the stony look that had settled on Herschel’s face. </p><p>“Are you a good liar, Liam?” </p><p>Liam narrowed his eyes at him, staring as he silently considered Herschel’s question. If he had read the file that the bastards at the warehouse kept on Liam, then he already knew the answer. And he didn’t strike Liam as the type to not read every word available to him, Herschel seemed the type to eagerly take in every bit of information he could and store it away to be used against him later. Liam internally laughed at himself, knowing that he couldn’t even bring himself to lie about this. “No. But you already knew that, right?” </p><p>Herschel’s smile never faltered, but Liam could see the mischievous glint in his eyes at his response. “Good, I was hoping you wouldn’t make this too easy on me.” He pulled a set of brass knuckles from his pocket and turned them over in his hands, thoughtfully gazing down at the gold plated weapon. “At some point, you’re going to tell me you trust me, <em>and you’re going to mean it</em>.”</p><p>Liam snorted, unable to contain the mocking sound in response to Herschel’s irritating confidence. </p><p>“I know you don’t believe me yet, but I have every confidence that you’ll catch on eventually and we have plenty of time to get you there. I’m going to show you tonight that I always do what I say I will. You’re going to raise your hands in the air - arms straight, hands high over your head - and I’m going to ask if you trust me. And when you tell me no - which you obviously will - I’m going to hurt you. When you drop your hands, I’m going to cause you intense pain.”</p><p>“So this is your sick game, right?” Liam asked with a lopsided smile, “You’re going to demand I say shit to piss you off and then punish me for following directions?” </p><p>Herschel gave him a wicked grin and slipped the brass knuckles over his fingers, “Oh no, this isn’t punishment. This is just a get to know you exercise, teaching you something about me. Now,” Herschel’s voice turned slick, spreading over Liam like oil on water, “Hands up.”</p><p>Liam stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes hard and calculating. He set his jaw and reminded himself that allowing his attitude to run unchecked could easily get him killed - this wasn’t some whiny little rich man, this was a backwoods monster who looked like he could do just about anything, and they were deep enough in the woods that no one would find Liam’s body after he dumped him. Liam raised his hands over his head, extending the limbs until his elbows locked, and set his stare on Herschel’s politely smiling face. </p><p>Herschel walked around him in a circle, giving him a wide enough berth that Liam wasn’t worried about him punching him without warning. “Ah, how rude of me!” Hershel reappeared in front of Liam, disappointment heavy on his features. “I forgot to introduce myself, I should have done so when you shared your name with me back at the warehouse.” </p><p>Liam rolled his eyes, “Yeah, real rude. Don’t worry about it, you’re forgiven. I’m sure that you’ll do plenty of shit that I find rude as we get into this bullshit, I don’t give a shit about forgetting to introduce yourself.”</p><p>Herschel sucked his tongue behind his teeth, making a small sound of disappointment that didn’t match the pleasant smile still spread across his face. “Oh come on, don’t be an ass. It doesn’t suit you, you’re too pretty for that kind of attitude.” Liam glared as Herschel winked at him, his eyes twinkling at the clear discomfort he had caused with the comment. “As I was saying,” he continued, his gaze flicking up the length of Liam’s arms. “My name is Herschel Boone -”</p><p>Liam laughed, dropping his head as the sound rolled off his tongue. “You’re shitting me, right?” He looked up to see Herschel watching him, brows raised expectantly. “Your momma must have really hated you, to name you fucking Hershey!”</p><p>Laughter was cut short by the brass knuckles connecting with Liam’s side, the dull thud of metal on soft flesh muffled by Liam’s desperate gasp for air and violent cough as pain lurched through him. He forced a breath, filling his lungs with cool air that cleared the edges of his vision, and forced a laugh from the back of his throat. “I’m not a fan of bittersweet chocolate, personally.” His voice was strained, his abdominal muscles not quite relaxed enough to allow him to speak without forcing the sound from his chest. “But hey, whatever works for you man.” </p><p>Herschel grinned at him, his expression almost playful if not for the dangerous flicker of amusement that flashed in his eyes. “I hope you’re fully aware of what’s about to happen. I’m going to hit you again, and again, and again, until you can’t even beg me to stop.” His voice was calm and calculated, deliberate in the slow intensity of his drawl. “Do you trust me, Liam?”</p><p>He set his brown eyes on Liam, the mocking grin quickly fading as he took in the twisted pleasure in Herschel’s crooked smile. “Fuck no, not even -” Liam was cut off by blinding pain as the brass knuckles connected with his side again. Herschel struck with lethal accuracy, making sure the blow landed in almost exactly the same place as the first time. He wheezed in a desperate attempt to breathe through the sharp pain that knifed through him, blinking away the white spots that crowded his vision. He could hear the ragged pull of his lungs, his mind struggling to connect the sound to his body as the overwhelming sensation separated him from reality. </p><p>Herschel brushed a stray lock of hair from Liam’s forehead, he breathed a contented sigh and hummed softly for a moment as if he were gently reminding Liam that he was still there. “I told you, I always do what I say.” He waited for Liam to take a full breath, giving him just enough time for his brain to regain control over his ability to breathe before quietly asking the question again. “Do you trust me, Liam?” </p><p>Liam knew what was coming but didn’t care, he refused to give in to Herschel’s game. “Not a fucking chance.” </p><p>Pain exploded through his lower back as Herschel delivered a sharp blow to his kidney, causing Liam’s back to arch involuntarily as a sharp cry stole the oxygen from his chest. He panted heavily, unable to control his body’s desperate struggle to process the assault on his senses. </p><p>“Do you trust me, Liam?”</p><p>“Go fuck yourself,” he wheezed weakly. </p><p>Herschel chuckled and for a moment Liam wondered if he would skip this round, but just as his mind calmed itself another blow to his back landed and Liam choked on the agony that ripped through him like acid.</p><p>“I love how stubborn you are, I admire that. I really do.” Herschel’s voice was warm and smooth, like honey on a summer day. It would have been soothing if it weren’t so insulting. “So tell me, now that I have followed through on my promise multiple times; do you trust me?”</p><p>“Suck a di-<em>oonf</em>!” Liam felt sharp metal land directly across the middle of his stomach, perfectly placed to dig into the line of soft tissue down the center of his abs for maximum effect. He gasped and sputtered, struggling to breath as the agony blossomed in his chest and threatened to absorb his lungs completely. Liam dropped his arms without thinking, the compulsive need to wrap his hands around his stomach - as if it could somehow soothe the pain - overwhelming his stubborn desire to keep his hands raised in the air over his head. </p><p>There was no warning, no reminder, only another strike to his side in retaliation for dropping his hands, and Liam crumpled to the floor. He curled in on himself as his eyes lost focus and the room went hazy. Hershel’s boot connected with his ribs, stomping on him as if he were a roach scuttling across a kitchen floor. Liam let go of a strangled cry, his voice cracking as tears pooled behind his eyes and his self control frayed. </p><p>“Get up, Liam.” Herschel’s tone was gleeful, betraying the serious order as he watched him writhe on the floor. “Get up or I’ll kick you again, and this time I’ll aim higher.”</p><p>Liam moaned and curled his body tighter, clinging to one last moment of relief before he had to force himself back up. His breath shuddered, his shoulders shaking with the anticipation of more pain, the dread of another round of the sick game, but Liam slowly pushed up on his arms and pulled his knees back under his body as he painstakingly rearranged himself in a kneeling position. He took a deep breath and pulled his body upright, dragging his hands up over his head and locking his elbows in position. He closed his eyes for one last moment, collecting himself, forcing the pain down with a hard swallow, and then looked defiantly at Herschel. </p><p>Liam’s gaze was strong and challenging, daring Herschel to keep going, promising that he wouldn’t break without a fight. Herschel returned the promise with a slick smile that made Liam’s stomach roll, the acceptance of his silent challenge sending a wave of nausea through his body. </p><p>“Very good, Liam. I’m proud of you, my last few boys didn’t get nearly this far.” He ruffled Liam’s brown hair affectionately, his smile warm and genuine. “But how much more do you think you can take?” </p><p>“I can play this game all fucking day.” </p><p>Herschel laughed and nodded his head, “Wonderful, because I’m in the mood to play.” Hershel knelt in front of him so that they were eye to eye. He rested a hand on Liam’s shoulder and looked at him long and hard before asking again, “Do you trust me, Liam?” </p><p>Liam pulled back and spit at him, the offending fluids landing just beneath Herschel’s steely blue eyes. A chill washed over him as Herschel smiled, his lips curling menacingly to show his teeth before he slowly wiped the spit from his face with the heel of his hand. </p><p>“Oh, that is <em>perfect</em>, and I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t be as much fun as I thought.” Herschel braced a hand on Liam’s shoulder, holding him tightly as he grinned, “This is going to hurt, Liam, <em>but you’ve earned it</em>.” Herschel pulled back and then struck with painful efficiency, expertly connecting the brass knuckles with Liam’s groin. Liam instantly doubled over, a sharp scream tumbling from his lungs only to be cut off by the impact of metal against his cheek before the world crashed into darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Songbird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herschel spends some quality time with his Songbird</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNINGS:<br/>Lady whump, *extremely* dubious consent, extremely NSFW, explicit content, conditioning, references to torture, human captivity</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/28t0Fp23qgptKwnTn55Hq2?si=tJm24SigS3yBz2_-zGf2fA">RECORD: Muddy Waters by LP</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=Uwhpy5b4T_O_zTt4bS65Qg">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Herschel felt the gentle pressure of her weight on his chest, the soft graze of her fingers against his chest as she slept. He had grown used to this, to the way she fell asleep at the far edge of the mattress, terrified of getting too close to him in case he was in the mood to play with her, but always inevitably ended up using him as a pillow once she was lost in the security of sleep. He knew that he had become her only comfort, her only safe harbor in the storm that had become her life. </p><p>He smiled to himself and carded a hand through her hair, absentmindedly threading the soft curls of her light brown hair around his fingers as he trailed his hand down her back. She stirred softly at the gentle touch, a gentle hum vibrating against his chest. He felt the flutter of her lashes against his skin, waiting for her to realize that she had - yet again - sought him out as she would a lover. </p><p>Watching her wake up never failed to amuse him, the slow realization that passed over her features as fear quickly replaced the sleepy contentment was entirely too enticing for him to ignore. She never disappointed him with the way she openly struggled to fight the way her body subconsciously leaned into his softer touches, the way her instinctive desire for his affection directly defied her deeply ingrained fear of him. Most mornings he simply watched as she internally moved through the entire range of thoughts and emotions before she scrambled away from him and disappeared into the house to do her chores. But Herschel was still keyed up from the night before, the sound of Liam’s gasps for air lingering in his mind like an echo bouncing through the Tennessee mountains. </p><p>Herschel moved a hand to her throat, openly smiling as her eyes snapped open wide with the jarring realization of what he desired from her. “Good morning, Songbird,” he cooed at her. He smiled, achingly reassuringly, completely aware that the genuine show of affection made her anxious and fearful. She stiffened under his touch, holding her body intensely still as he slowly pushed against her, moving her onto her back so that he could lean over her soft curves and trail his fingers down her neck and chest with a featherlight touch that left goosebumps in its wake. </p><p>Her fingers gripped the sheet, clutching at the freshly laundered cotton that still smelled of sunshine and the fresh mountain air from an afternoon on the clothesline. Her bright blue eyes were fixed on him, pupils blown wide with fear even as her body softened in resignation. He pressed a kiss to her sternum, aiming for his favorite constellation of freckles that speckled her warm, olive skin. A strained sound slipped from her lips, something caught between a hesitant moan and a whimper. He recognized it as a plea for mercy, a strangled request to stop because, even after all that time, she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around why a part of her wanted this, why a part of her cherished his soft touches, she couldn’t quite grasp just how broken she was. But Herschel knew exactly how far beyond damaged she was, he saw her fighting with her body’s intuitive reaction to him, he relished the way that she caught herself and tried to cling to horror when all she wanted was to ask for more. Herschel liked to tease her with those moments, to dangle kindness and pleasure in front of her, to remind her of it when he inevitably caused her pain later. </p><p>“Tell me to stop and I will, Songbird.” He grinned as she stared down at him, her eyes round and conflicted. He offered the reprieve knowing that she wouldn’t speak, his songbird never spoke. He took that from her years ago, stole her voice when she sold her soul to the devil to keep from being buried alive in the Smoky Mountains. If she could have, she would have told him to stop, but the idea of using her voice filled her with terror so potent that he could feel it radiate from her even after so many years. “Just tell me you don’t want me to go any further, if I hear those words I’ll stop and you can go do your chores.” </p><p>His smile widened as she whimpered again, he always enjoyed this game and never bothered to hide it from her. He moved his lips lower, dragging the heat of his mouth down her stomach to linger over her hips. She parted her thighs slowly, hesitantly, almost unwilling to give him access to her but even more unwilling to incur his wrath so early in the morning. She watched him intently, afraid of what he would do if she tore her gaze from him as he inflicted each tender touch upon her as viciously as if it were the slice of a kitchen knife. </p><p>Herschel settled comfortably between her legs, his gaze turned from soft and patient to hungry and sharp. He gave her a look that was reminiscent of a predator cornering it’s dinner, then darted his tongue out and flicked it over her clit. She jumped, a sharp cry tearing free of her throat as sparks of pleasure mingled with the fear of his sudden movement. He watched her press her eyes closed as he lowered his mouth to her body, devouring every twitch and jerk of her muscles as he forced the sensations through her. He teased her carefully, focused on building up each wave of pleasure despite the way she fought to keep her mind from giving in to him. He moved his tongue in small circles, keeping his attention in one place until she quivered beneath him and her body begged him for a reprieve even as she held her breath and focused on the ceiling. </p><p>Her mouth moved in silent imitation of speech, but she wouldn’t let a word slip free of her lips. His Songbird didn’t dare speak, she only used her voice to sing when he commanded it. Satisfaction surged in him, the feeling of another victory lifting him higher as he pushed further into the dark corners of her mind. He dipped a finger inside of her and skimmed his free hand up her hips as her back arched off the bed. The curve of her spine was almost unnatural, her body bending in a painful arch that matched the wrenching pain in her soul. A quick crook of his finger, a dragging sensation against her inner walls, and a hard flick to her clit was all it took to send her careening over the cliff of her sanity and crashing into an unwilling orgasm. </p><p>He took in the sound of her cry, the agonized wail that filled the room, and he closed his eyes as he listened to his Songbird. He waited for her to finish singing, for her mind to clear as the haze of forced pleasure faded away from her. He watched her face contort, her expression twist as she held back tears. He watched her take inventory of herself, all too aware that he had stolen another little piece of her to add to his collection. </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Stitches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Songbird tends to Liam's wounds</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNINGS:<br/>Lady whump, backwoods medical treatment, unsterilized medical supplies, mild gore, face gore, blood, sewing supplies for stitches, voice control, collar, manipulation</p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/3qvKU2zMTszItuKMnDMdeD?si=UZ0kildpTAe4DppP5n9cuw">RECORD: I've Got A Thing About You Baby by Elvis Presley</a><br/><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=Uwhpy5b4T_O_zTt4bS65Qg">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Liam gasped as water was tossed over his body, his mind yanked from unconscious sleep with the burn of the icy water on his skin. He coughed and moved to shield himself, as if he could block the chill that swept across him in the wake of the water. His mind was foggy for a moment, caught in the shock of the freezing water and the harsh breath that had pulled his mind back to the light. </p><p>A hearty chuckle brought Liam crashing back to reality, his eyes snapped open to find Herschel standing over him with an empty bucket and a wicked grin. “Good morning Liam!”</p><p>He coughed again, trying to clear his lungs of the water he had inhaled in his panic. “What the fuck!”</p><p>“I know. It’s cold, right? I had my little Songbird go fetch it from the crick.” The shadow of a frown passed over Liam’s face at the acknowledgement of another person, but Herschel ignored him. “I thought the cool water would be refreshing, and it might help the pain in your face after our little get to know you exercise last night.” </p><p>Liam opened his mouth to retort but the movement sent a sharp pain through his cheek and behind his eye. He gingerly reached up and ran his fingers over his cheek, feeling the sunken and cracked bone beneath his eye socket and the gash that ran down his previously unmarked skin. He had a lot of scars, but he had been proud of the fact that his face had always been left alone, that little bit of his good looks left for him to cherish. His stomach sank as his fingers gently probed the gaping wound, the torn flesh that he was sure would heal in a bright, jagged scar that no amount of makeup would be able to truly hide. </p><p>“Oh, it’s not so bad. Just a little token of our first night together - a love bite, if you will.” Liam glared at him but was too transfixed on the feel of flesh hanging from his face to respond. “Don’t worry, Songbird will stitch you up. I just needed you awake and alert.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Liam grumbled, “I’m awake you piece of shit.” </p><p>Herschel chuckled again and shook his head, “Not quite yet. You still seem a little groggy.” He reached down with a renewed grin and picked up another bucket, the sound of water sloshing inside echoing in the metal container. He tossed the freezing water at Liam, drenching him in a fresh wave of painful chills and prickling needle jabs that assaulted every inch of skin. “Now you seem more awake!” He looked up, toward the stairs that Liam hadn’t turned to yet, and called up the stairs gleefully. “Songbird, come on down and say hello!”</p><p>Liam twisted around, craning his neck as far as possible that he could avoid moving his torso any more than he had to. Pain radiated in his back and sides, the raw ache of each stripe of bruises from the brass knuckles plucked hard at his senses. His body was stiff and unyielding, his muscles refused to bend and twist as he tried to look behind him, no longer pliant and soft as his body struggled to recover from the game Herschel had played so cheerfully. </p><p>Soft steps came down the wooden stairs and a small, delicate woman’s hand ran silently down the banister. Liam watched her approach with weary, watchful eyes that widened when she saw the gash left on his face. She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it as she looked to Herschel. There was a question in her eyes, but she waited silently, wringing her hands in front of her as if unsure what to do with herself. </p><p>“Liam,” Herschel held a hand out to her and she timidly stepped closer, resting her palm in his so that he could pull her to his side. “This is <em>Annie</em>, but you can call her Songbird - she gave me her name years ago when she decided to stay with me. She doesn’t talk much,” Herschel winked at Liam as he continued, “I took that too.” His smile took on a devious twist as he glanced down at her, clearly enjoying the way she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his arm draped across her shoulders. “Songbird is going to clean up your face Liam, stitch that nasty cut closed and wash all the blood off.” Herschel gave her a gentle push in his direction and kept talking, clearly oblivious to her discomfort and to Liam’s hostile glare. “I mean you look just <em>awful,</em> like someone beat the hell out of you.”</p><p>“Funny how that works, huh?” Liam mumbled as he forced himself to sit upright. His eyes softened as he stared at Songbird; her nervous fidgeting and hesitant demeanor made it clear that she was stuck here just like he was, the little bit of freedom dangled in front of her was just as effective as any chain that Herschel could attach to her. </p><p>“Just one thing,” Herschel held up a finger and Songbird froze, anxiously refusing to move until given permission to complete the task he had brought her down here for - the task she was all too familiar with after so long with Herschel. </p><p>He turned to the table behind him, where Liam knew the record player sat, and picked up a thick leather collar with a heavy ring sewn into the front. He knelt down in front of Liam and smiled at him softly, his eyes twinkling as he Liam recoiled in horror. “Oh come on, don’t be like that. I bought it special for you.”</p><p>“I don’t give a fuck if you killed the cow and skinned it yourself, I’m not wearing that fucking thing.” </p><p>“Liam,” Herschel said, his eyes going dark as the humor faded from his features, “Remember what I taught you yesterday? I <em>will </em>put this collar on you, how I do it is up to you.”</p><p>“Go fuck yourself,” Liam said as he stared defiantly into Herschel’s eyes. </p><p>The soft smile that spread over his face was unsettling, almost eerie in how calm and collected it was, but Liam stared unflinchingly back at him. “Oh Liam, do you trust me?” </p><p>“Again with that shit?”</p><p>Herschel chuckled for a moment, and then drove his fist hard into Liam’s stomach, expertly throwing his weight into the deep bruise left from the night before. Liam gagged instantly, lurching forward as he fought to keep himself from being sick at the sudden wave of overwhelming pain. He bent over himself, doubled over and clutching at his stomach as he coughed and tried to force his lungs to fill. Herschel whistled a happy harmony (Liam vaguely thought it sounded like an old Elvis song) as he casually wrapped the collar around his neck and buckled it, taking advantage of his inability to fight back. Herschel slipped a heavy metal padlock through the loop at the back and it closed with a deafening snap of metal on metal. Liam felt his freedom slip away with the metallic click of steel mechanisms and the gentle pressure of the cool lock resting against the back of his neck. </p><p>Herschel clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder, the exaggerated impact making him sway a little, and grinned at him. “There you go boy, lookin’ pretty as a picture.” He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, resuming the tune he was whistling (Liam was sure it was Elvis) as he nodded at Songbird and went up the stairs. </p><p>She quickly moved to retrieve a first aid kit and washcloth from a nearby shelf and knelt beside him. She pulled the tin bucket close to her to use the little bit of water left to slosh at the bottom. She stared at him for a moment, tilting his chin up with gentle fingers and turning his face so that she could better look at the flesh hanging open beneath his eye. Songbird pursed her lips and sighed through her nose but said nothing.</p><p>She wet the rag and lifted his chin higher, she narrowed her eyes in concentration as she scrubbed the dried blood from his skin and tried to avoid making the gaping wound in his cheek bleed any more than it already was. Her touch was soft and soothing, and Liam quickly relaxed his body and let his shoulders sag forward. He was exhausted, his body ached and his head throbbed. It occurred to Liam that he was parched, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like velcro and he swallowed thickly as he stared at the water beside Songbird.</p><p>She looked at him for a moment and shook her head slightly, but she set the cloth in her lap and glanced up the stairs to make sure that Herschel wasn’t hovering nearby. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she were contemplating something in her mind. After a long moment, a few seconds that seemed to feel like hours, she cupped her hands together and dipped them in the bucket. She scooped the water out and offered it to Liam, pressing her soft fingers to his lips and tilting the cool water into his mouth. He drank eagerly, not even bothering to wonder how clean her hands were. She brought her hands to his lips twice more, watching him with heartbreaking compassion as he drank from her hands like a wounded animal. </p><p>They heard the creaking of wood and she quickly dried her hands on her apron and dunked the washcloth in the water to rinse the blood from it. Liam groaned as he watched her taint the water with his blood, wringing the cloth out aggressively before she went back to her task and continued cleaning his face. He was all too aware of the hint of copper that filled his senses, the blood dried in his nose making it impossible to ignore the bitter reminder of how he had laid on the floor and bled all night after Herschel’s strike to his face the night before. </p><p>When she couldn’t avoid the long, uneven split of skin anymore she gave him a sympathetic smile and rinsed out the rag before opening the first aid kit. She pulled out a bottle of alcohol, small enough to fit in the metal container, and doused the rag in it before quickly pressing it to the cut across his face. Liam hissed and jerked away from her, but Songbird was prepared and followed him so that the rag stayed pressed to the sensitive tissues and exposed nerves.</p><p>She held his shoulder with her free hand, trying to signal to him to stay still. Liam knew that he could get free of her easily, but he couldn’t bring himself to cause harm to her - by way of his own actions or by way of Herschel. Liam tensed and cried out as she squeezed the rag, forcing some of the alcohol to drip into the wound and down his face in faint pink rivulets of blood tinged liquid. He shuddered as she pulled the washcloth away and tossed it in the bucket of water.</p><p>She turned to the first aid kit and pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag with a hook needle and a long thread of string and laid it beside her. Liam’s eyes went wide and his heart started to race. She pulled out another baggie with a syringe and needle and then pulled a pair of gloves over her hands before pulling out a little glass vial of what Liam assumed was medication. She opened the needle and popped the beveled end through the cap of the glass bottle, she methodically filled the syringe with the unknown liquid before turning to him. </p><p>Liam swallowed hard and shuffled backwards a bit, trying to ignore the pain in his abdomen that flared sharp and hard with every movement. “Wh-what is that?” </p><p>She said nothing, only tapped her cheek and then the syringe attached to the needle. Her eyes were distant, focused on something far off in the distance of her mind, but still warm and sympathetic as she shuffled closer and braced the heel of her hand on his jaw before piercing his skin with the needle. </p><p>Liam closed his eyes against the sharp pain but was grateful when the side of his face quickly went numb and the pain that had been burning just below his eye faded away. He wasn’t sure how many times she poked the needle into his skin, how many tiny injections she spread across his cheek, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. His eyes slipped closed in grateful relaxation, relieved at the loss of sensation and Herschel’s absence as she worked in silence. </p><p>He wanted to talk to her, wanted to ask questions, wanted to hear the voice of another human being - a voice that wasn’t Herschel’s. But Liam knew she wouldn’t talk; the confidence and childish excitement that had filled Herschel’s voice when he commented on her refusal to speak was more than enough assurance that she would obey even when he wasn’t around. </p><p>Songbird tapped his shoulder and he looked at her. She pointed at the floor and gave his shoulder a gentle push, indicating that she wanted him to lay down. Liam looked at the grimy concrete floor of the basement, sure that no one had cleaned the floor in God knew how long, sure that he would get an infection just from being so close to the disgusting surface. He shrugged his shirt from his body, still wet and clinging to his skin, and balled it up to lay under his head as if the few added inches off the floor would do much to help him.</p><p>She pulled the needle out of the Ziploc bag and Liam felt panic flood his system - it was just a long, curved sewing needle like the ones that his mother had in her sewing kit and the string didn’t look much better than a coarse embroidery thread. “No, no you can’t put that in my face -” he tried to sit up, adrenaline washing over him as he panicked, but Songbird was quick to push him back down and shake her head. She pressed a finger to her lips and stared at him with wide eyes, her expression pleading with him to stop fighting and lower his voice. “Fuck,” Liam muttered as he laid back down, his eyes fixated on her fingers threading the needle. “Have you done this before?” </p><p>She solemnly nodded, refusing to look at him as she concentrated, her tongue sticking out just a little from her lips. </p><p>“How many times?” </p><p>Songbird looked at him, her eyes suddenly cold and hard as she grimaced. </p><p>“A lot?” </p><p>She nodded and pulled her hair to one side, revealing a long, jagged scar that cut through her skin, from her jaw to her collarbone, like an angry white stripe against the soft olive and warm red freckles. </p><p>“You closed that yourself?”</p><p>She nodded and ran her fingers softly over the scar, no doubt feeling the way her skin had healed unevenly, tight and stiff in comparison to the softness of untouched skin. </p><p>“Holy fuck,” Liam said quietly. “Did that asshole do that?” </p><p>Her eyes went round with fear and she pressed a finger to his lips, all but begging him to to stop talking before Herschel heard them. He sighed but nodded, unwilling to scare her and force Herschel to take over - or worse.</p><p>Liam forced himself to relax - as much as he could with the sound of Herschel walking around on the floor above them constantly reminding them that he was nearby - and he closed his eyes as Songbird slowly forced the needle through the skin of his cheek and tugged the string tight before knotting it off. Over and over, the pull of skin told him she was starting a new stitch, the increasing tightness in his face let him know that she had securely set a new knot in place. Four stitches felt like forty and Liam’s heart was racing by the time she was done. </p><p>Her hand disappeared but Liam didn’t move, unwilling to open his eyes to see his horrible reality just yet. A sharp pain ripped through him and Liam bolted upright, he clutched his face and let out a string of curse words that made Songbird recoil. He looked to see her holding the little bottle of alcohol, and he realized that she must have poured the last of it over the wound to make sure the stitches were clean. </p><p>“Jesus fucking <em>Christ</em>,” he muttered as he pulled his hand away, expecting to see more than just the faint traces of blood in the wetness on his hand. “I’m sorry,” he looked at her, guilt replacing the pain in his chest as she watched him fearfully. “I didn’t mean to scare you, just - <em>holy fuck that hurt</em>. Warn me next time, will you?” </p><p>She nodded slowly and her eyes went dull again, the spark of fear gone and somehow taking the life from her expression with it. She turned and started putting the supplies away, clearing the area around him and leaving him with nothing to slip in a pocket to use later. He was sure that she had been through this before, more times than he cared to contemplate, and she knew what was expected of her by now. </p><p>“Hey,” Liam said softly, suddenly filled with trepidation as the realization that Herschel would be back as soon as she was finished dawned on him. She looked at him, her expression soft with pity, and waited for him to continue. “How do I get - how did <em>you </em>survive him?” </p><p>Songbird sighed, she stared at him for a moment. Her eyes were suddenly intense, full of life and vicious understanding that shocked Liam. She slowly raised her hands in front of her lips, pressing her fingers and palms together in a classic prayer position. She raised her eyes above her, slowly inclining her head to the ceiling as if she were looking at God himself. After a long moment, a few seconds that seemed to stretch on forever, she brought her gaze back down to him and softly kissed her praying fingers. Her face went soft again, her eyes losing the fire that had filled them only a moment ago, and she lowered her hands to her lap. She stared at him, her gaze piercing the hard exterior that he had so carefully cultivated, and her lips turned down in a sad way that made Liam think that she already knew exactly what fate he was going to meet at the hands of Herschel Boone.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Baptism</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herschel takes Songbird and Liam to the crick for a good ol' fashioned southern baptism.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNING:<br/>Lady whump, religious mentions, backwoods preaching, backwoods baptism, water torture, near drowning, praying, mention of open wounds, mention of wound cleaning, noncon touching, hair pulling</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/3Y5DCDTYxAz4uKrQt9S2A1?si=bg3TBvzhQZ-zYQJaa4mlgQ">RECORD: In Between by The Sweeplings</a><br/><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=Uwhpy5b4T_O_zTt4bS65Qg">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Herschel’s rough hands were the first thing to wake Liam, dragging him from a restless sleep as his body fought to recover from the abuse that Herschel had inflicted in the days before. It had been almost a week of games - more ‘get to know you exercises,’ taunting, joking, tormenting him as Songbird was forced to sit and watch. His body was tired and broken, seemingly held together by the makeshift stitches and wrapped bandages that Songbird carefully administered when Herschel finally tired of him and left them alone. Herschel had said nothing as he dragged Liam outside by the collar and then unceremoniously dumped him in the bed of the truck before Herschel and Songbird climbed into the cab and the old hunk of metal roared to life beneath him. </p><p>Herschel had tied his wrists behind his back with coarse rope that chafed the skin and prevented Liam from sitting up as they drove. The rough movements of the truck over the uneven ground of Herschel’s property jostled him on the hard metal of the truck bed. Liam was forced to tense his abs to minimize the way he bounced with each bump and divot in the ground, pushing the ache deeper into his muscles. </p><p>He didn’t need to be able to see the path ahead of the truck to know that Herschel drove recklessly; the truck creaked and strained like it had already lived too far past its prime, and Liam could hear the skid of tires turning too sharply on dirt. The clouds passed too quickly, each flash of white fluff only bringing Liam closer to the next miserable game.</p><p>The truck skidded to a stop, too fast for the speed they had been going, and Liam slid forward until his body crumpled against the back of the cab. He heard the creak of the old metal door open and slam closed, the impact shaking the truck enough to jostle Liam as he struggled to ease the pain that rocked through his body at the sudden crushing weight of his own body colliding with metal. The low moan of pain that had fallen from his throat had surprised them both, but Liam couldn’t stop the sound as Herschel dragged him to the tailgate by an ankle and folded him over his shoulder, carrying him easily to the edge of the crick before he dropped him like a sack of bricks on the hard ground. </p><p>Liam sat, blinking in the bright light of the day, his mind only able to focus on the blissful warmth of the sun on the back of his neck as he waited. Herschel let Songbird out of the truck and watched as she spread a small blanket out on the dirt, sitting herself down a few feet away from Liam and gazing silently at the water. </p><p>He looked up at Herschel, surprised at the wistful look that had settled over his hard features, his mouth turned in a small smile that Liam would have missed had he not spent the last 6 days studying his features. </p><p>“Did I tell you that my Papaw was a Preacherman?” He looked down at Liam, watching his face but not expecting an answer. “He taught me everything I know. Taught me about life, how to survive in the real world, how to find a job, how to change a tire and do my own oil. Taught me everything my Daddy wasn’t around to show me.” </p><p>He sat down on the edge of the blanket and stared at the water, ignoring the way Songbird shuffled ever so slightly away from him. His gaze was transfixed on the water, watching his memories as they passed on the gentle current. It was unnerving, to see the hard, menacing man with such a soft expression in his eyes. Liam wondered to himself how Herschel could look so normal, so human, after all the savage beatings he had given him since dragging him down to his basement and chaining him to the floor. </p><p>“My Daddy wasn’t around, went to jail when I was about 7. So Momma was on her own with me and Cheyenne, but she wasn’t hardly around. Papaw took us in, he saved us. Gave a shit when no one else did.” He reached out, seemingly without thinking, and ran his fingers through Songbird’s long curls, playing with the ends of the ringlets as she stiffened in an effort to keep her body still. “I don’t think I’d be here today if it weren’t for Papaw, you know. He taught me how to be a man, how to be honest and hardworking. He taught me how to be determined, how to reach my goals. But you know what the biggest thing he taught me was?” Herschel paused for a moment and looked back to Liam, the malicious glint back in his steel blue eyes. “He taught me about God, Liam.”</p><p>Herschel gave Songbird’s hair a final, playful tug before he stood and took a step towards Liam. “He taught me what God expects from us.” He took another step and Liam swallowed hard against his dry throat. “He taught me that we have to repent for our sins.” Another step, and Liam shifted uncomfortably as anxiety knotted in his stomach. Herschel’s voice raised an octave, subtly climbing as he moved closer to Liam. “He taught me that we have to keep ourselves on the righteous path to salvation.” He closed the distance between them with one last step and hauled Liam to his feet. Herschel yanked hard on his arms, not bothering to try to spare Liam the pain that cut into his wrists from the coarse rope rubbing his skin raw. </p><p>“But most of all,” he shoved Liam a step closer to the water as his voice raised a final octave. “He taught me that we have to <em>sacrifice</em> for God, Liam!” Herschel pushed at his chest again, shoving Liam back with two fingers pressed to his chest. “We have to cut pieces of ourselves out.” Liam glanced behind him and fear set in as he realized he was only a few feet from the edge of the crick. “We have to purge ourselves of the wickedness that settles within us over the course of life!” Herschel pushed him another step backwards and his lips curled in the smile that Liam had already come to dread. “We have to free ourselves of the spiritual yokes that keep us trapped in our unholy mires of corruption!” </p><p>One last shove resulted in Liam splashing into the crick, the ice cold water licking at his ankles and sending tremors up his body. “We become faithful servants by flaying our bodies of our sins!” He stepped into the water, forcing Liam back another step. “We show God our devotion by stripping our unholy ruminations one layer of flesh at a time, Liam.” </p><p>He took another step towards Liam but didn’t allow him to move back this time, he caught him by the ragged collar of his shirt and held him tightly in his grasp as he took another step into the crick. “We prostrate our bodies to God, stripping the skin from our bones in gratitude for Jesus’ sacrifice!” Herschel moved further into the water, each step dragged Liam with him as if he were a doll being carried around by a toddler. </p><p>The chill of the water set in quickly and Liam’s legs were numb to the prickling cold of the crick on the sunny winter morning. He looked to Songbird but her eyes didn’t seem to be focused on him. She was looking in his direction, hands pressed together in prayer, silently moving her lips in feverous prayer. The knot in his stomach tightened and Liam suddenly felt nauseous, the weight of Herschel’s words was pressing down on him like a boulder. Dread settled over him, the tiny voice in the back of his mind whispering that this was it for him, that he was going to die at the hands of some nutcase hillbilly in a random crick, that he would be left to rot where only the wildlife would find him. </p><p>His shirt clung to his waist as the water lapped at him, the movement of the two men disturbed the gentle currents and scattered the fish in all directions. “I’m going to save your soul today, Liam. Do you trust me?” </p><p>Liam’s eyes went wide, trepidation settled heavy as a stone in his stomach as he realized that this was another game for Herschel. His grip was still firmly wrapped around the neck of his tee shirt, and Liam knew that he was too weak from hunger and injuries to fight him if he wanted to drown him in the freezing water. </p><p>Herschel yanked him close and carded a hand through his hair. The gesture was almost tender, deceptively soft in comparison to what Liam knew was coming. He spoke quietly, his voice low and husky with unbridled excitement that covered Liam in an extra layer of goosebumps. “I’m going to <em>divest you</em> of the <em>evil lurking in your soul</em>, stripping you down <em>before God</em> to save you from <em>eternal damnation</em>.” His fingers tightened in Liam’s hair, spiking a new pain through his scalp that momentarily distracted him from the ache that had permanently taken up residence in the rest of his body. “I will <em>cleave the immorality</em> from your heart to make room for <em>God’s divine love in you</em>!” </p><p>He pulled tighter in Liam’s hair, snapping his head back as he raised his other hand to the sky. “I will <em>hew the unholy urges</em> from your mind to bring you <em>back to his light</em>!” Herschel forced him into the water, taking advantage of Liam’s surprise and weakened physical state.</p><p>Liam stiffened, the shock of the cold water paralyzing him as his brain struggled to process the sudden submersion. The seconds felt like hours as he let out a waterlogged shout of protest, a plume of bubbles floating to the surface as he released precious oxygen into the crick. He heard Herschel’s voice, still ranting above the surface, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. The grip in his hair was too tight, it lit fire to his scalp as hair was ripped free in his struggle to come up for air. </p><p>Herschel finally brought him up with a harsh yank of his hand, dragging Liam’s head above the surface and holding him neck deep in the water. Liam violently coughed, struggling to clear his lungs so that he could get a full breath of much needed oxygen. Herschel ignored his gasps for air and kept shouting to the sky in his mock preacher’s tone, but Liam struggled to understand the entirety of his religious ramblings. </p><p>“God, I <em>return</em> this boy to you! I <em>cleanse him of his sins</em>, washing him in the <em>holy waters</em> that you have <em>delivered</em> unto us in this here crick!” He shoved Liam under again, this time using both hands to control Liam’s thrashing as he became desperate to free himself of Herschel’s grip. </p><p>He pulled him out again and looped the fingers of one hand in Liam’s collar, squeezing his trachea as he struggled to pull in a full breath of air. “<em>Lord</em> see our <em>sacrifice</em>,” Herschel dunked him again, holding him for a few agonizingly long seconds as he caught his breath and considered his words. He pulled him up and twisted his fingers in the collar, tightening it even more around his throat. “See this boy’s <em>willingness</em> to give his <em>life</em> to you, Lord!” He shoved him under again, giving Liam’s hair a sharp twist as his nails dug at Herschel’s arms in an attempt to get away from his iron grip.</p><p>Liam felt his mind going fuzzy, his ability to focus dwindling as he fought for every refreshing wave of air that he could steal in the short moments that Herschel held him above water. A weak tingle washed over his muscles and he felt as though his body was quickly becoming too sluggish to adequately defend himself from the onslaught of water that came with each dunk. </p><p>Herschel pulled him up again with a harsh tug, the sudden force sending a twinge of pain down Liam’s neck. He immediately opened his mouth for air but only managed to choke out a strangled gurgle as water rolled at the back of his throat. His brain didn’t work, it was disconnected from his body in a dangerous way that left him staring at Songbird with no air and no way of kick starting his lungs. </p><p>Her eyes met his and her soft brown irises seemed to slice through whatever had been blocking his brain from forcing his body to work. Liam coughed hard, dislodging the water in one quick breath. He pulled in a deep gasp of air, his mind scrambling to prepare him for the inevitable twist of the collar and inundation of dangerously cold water. </p><p>“<em>Lord</em>!” Herschel shouted, his voice rang through the trees in a deranged echo that made Songbird feel like he was everywhere at once. “<em>Free</em> this boy of <em>Devil’s hold</em>, and bring him into <em>your loving arms</em>!” He dipped Liam again but pulled him up quickly, somehow making it even harder for Liam to breathe as he struggled to adjust to the sudden change. “<em>Release him</em> from his <em>unholy afflictions</em> and <em>deliver him</em> from the <em>sins</em> of his past so that he may be accepted into <em>your holy kingdom</em>!” He shoved him into the water again, but held him only for a few seconds before pulling him up and looking down into Liam’s eyes. </p><p>His brown eyes were wild and desperate, staring at Herschel with a panic akin to a small animal cornered by a predator. Liam wrapped his hands around Herschel’s arm, silently begging him to loosen his twisting grip on the collar. Herschel stroked his thumb along Liam’s chin affectionately and gave him a small smile. Liam withered under the tiny gesture of kindness, his mind struggling to determine if he wanted to cling to that gentle touch or fight it with his last breath.</p><p>“I now <em>baptize you</em>,” he shoved him under, ignoring the sharp cry of protest before water filled his mouth, and pulled him back out. “In the <em>name</em> of the <em>father</em>,” under the icy sheet of water again, Liam’s skin burned with exertion and chills. He pulled him out, ignoring the heavy gasp of air and helpless mumbled pleas to just wait a moment. “And<em> the Son</em>,” Herschel shoved him down again, submerging him in the frigid crick for a quick count of three before he pulled him back up. “And <em>the Holy Ghost</em>,” Liam didn’t fight this time, he was too consumed with being grateful that it was finally over to try and resist. He let his body go lax, limp with defeat and submission, his limbs floated carelessly and his fingers brushed faintly against the denim of Herschel’s jeans. </p><p>Herschel pulled Liam up, smiling at the mixture of relief and resignation on Liam’s chiseled features. He made a mental note to have Songbird clean his wounds out with alcohol again when they got back, no doubt the crick water could bring all sorts of infections if left to fester in half healed, badly sutured gashes. </p><p>His grin turned malicious and he tightened his grip on Liam’s collar again before chuckling. Liam looked up at him, confused for a moment and then wide eyed with fear. “<em>Out with the old</em>!”</p><p>Liam’s shout of protest was cut off by the biting chill of the water penetrating his lungs once more. His fight or flight kicked in this time and panic overwhelmed him. Liam quickly abandoned his struggle to keep control of the situation and thrashed under the water, the desire to get his head above the surface all consuming. Herschel laughed and held him a few seconds longer than he planned, too entertained by the cascades of bubbles and the violent splashing to rush pulling him up. </p><p>When Liam’s movements turned jerky and uncoordinated, Herschel finally pulled him out of the water, dragging him by the collar all the way to his feet to stand at full height. “And <em>in with the new</em>!” He cupped Liam’s cheeks in his hands and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, beaming at him with warmth in his wintry blue eyes. “Welcome home, <em>Sweet Pea</em>.” </p><p><em>Sweet Pea</em>, Liam thought to himself. <em>Fucking Sweet Pea</em>. And, from the corner of his eye, he saw Songbird make a cross over her body before her shoulders sagged forward in relief and exhaustion.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Piano Fingers (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Liam gets a visitor...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNING: <br/>Lady whumper, threats of violence, tied to chair, knives, threatening behaviors</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/4ZB2qcu4B1ZmNjnIdkwNAE?si=Lm7CS6QHSCi9Cj9kRnHx8w">RECORD: Pick Me Up On Your Way Down by Wanda Jackson</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=Uwhpy5b4T_O_zTt4bS65Qg">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cheyenne circled Liam’s sleeping form, her bright blue eyes as sharp as scalpels as she appraised his battered body. </p><p>“Oh, Herschel,” she whispered as her hand fluttered over her chest. “<em>He</em> is just <em>lovely</em>, ain’t he?” </p><p>Herschel nodded as he continued to watch Cheyenne. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow as she circled Liam. The way she hovered over him was reminiscent of a vulture that had spotted a dying animal, patiently waiting for the poor creature to tire itself out so that it could take the meal without a fight. </p><p>She looked up at him, her face alight with excitement. “Can I wake ‘im up?”</p><p>Herschel grinned, “Be my guest. You know I’d never deny my little sister something she wants.” </p><p>Cheyenne pinned him with a scowl and set her hands on her hips, “Herschel, you know damn well that I am <em>four years</em> older’n you.”</p><p>“But you’re still <em>little</em>, Cheyenne,” he teased. </p><p>She regarded him for a moment, debating whether or not she wanted to postpone her fun with the new boy to give Herschel a little hell. She glanced back down at Liam and instantly softened, “The poor lamb must be so exhausted ta sleep through all this arguin’, what on Earth have ya done to ‘im, Herschel?”</p><p>Herschel shrugged with a slight grin, “Nothing I haven’t done to anyone before him. He just has a little more fight in him, that’s all.” </p><p>She bit her lip with a small smile as she crept closer, “Can I play with ‘im?”</p><p>As if on cue, Songbird padded down the stairs on almost silent feet, stopping to look at Herschel before she reached the bottom. He nodded at her with a smile, “I know Darlin’, I’m comin’.” He looked back at Cheyenne and gestured to Liam. “What’s mine is yours, little sister. Have fun with him. Just don’t break him any worse’n Songbird can fix up.”</p><p>Cheyenne flashed her brother a bright smile as he followed Songbird up the stairs and they disappeared. She moved closer to him and dropped to her knees, moving silently just as Papaw had taught her during all those hunting lessons and never alerting the sleeping form of her proximity.</p><p>She softly ran her fingers through his hair, trailing her nails softly along his scalp. She smiled as he murmured a quiet sound of contentment through the haze of sleep, his body stirring slightly as she continued her gentle ministrations. “Mmm,” he muttered. “Tha’ feels good Annie…”</p><p>Cheyenne’s smile turned sharp and predatory, already delighted with the trouble that she had found in this beautiful new boy of Herschel’s. “Oh, <em>really</em> now?” She cackled sharply and gave his hair a sharp tug. “I bet Herschel would <em>love </em>ta know what you’re dreamin’ about his <em>Annie</em>!”</p><p>Liam bolted upright, his eyes wide and alert at the harsh intrusion of her voice in his dream. “Wha- Who the fuck are you?”</p><p>“Herschel said ya had a mouth on ya, I didn’t think it could be that bad but <em>goodness</em>! Listen ta <em>you curse</em>!”</p><p>Liam glared at her as he sat back on his haunches. His muscles rippled with tension, but Cheyenne could see the strain of every movement and she knew it wouldn’t last long. “Who the fuck are you?”</p><p>“Oh, how rude of me. I am Herschel’s big sister, Cheyenne.” She bit her lip and a mischievous twinkle flickered in her eyes. “Ya know, I <em>really </em>should tell Herschel what you were dreamin’ of his Songbird. He don’t take kindly ta that sort of thing, it could get you in a whole <em>heap </em>of trouble.”</p><p>Liam’s glare didn’t waiver, he was careful not to betray the fear that washed over him at the thought of Herschel’s anger. Up until now it had been a sort of game; Herschel had always smiled and joked with him, his good mood paired with the sounds of Elvis and Tom Waits - music that crept into Liam’s mind long after Herschel pulled the needle away from the vinyl. But he didn’t doubt that any abuse out of anger would be far worse than the twisted games, that Herschel’s anger would likely be deadly if it involved Songbird. He watched Cheyenne smile and tilt her head, regarding him with vicious curiosity. </p><p>
  <em>This is a fucking game for her too.</em>
</p><p>“What the fuck do you want.”</p><p>“Aw, come on now. Don’t be like <em>that</em>,” she pouted her lips with an exaggerated <em>hmph </em>that made Liam want to roll his eyes. “I just want ta have a little fun! My rabbit ran off the other day and I had ta put ‘im down, so I’m feelin’ a little lonely is all.” She tilted her head a little more and Liam could see the same cruel glimmer that he saw when Herschel looked at him. “I’ll keep your secret, <em>if </em>ya play with me?”</p><p>Liam shook his head, “I don’t-”</p><p>“You’re right,” she heaved an exaggerated sigh and got up. “After all, I really should make sure Herschel knows his new boy is sweet on his little bird. Gotta keep her pure if they’re gonna get married, you know?”</p><p>His eyes widened, making them impossibly large against the sharp lines of his cheek and enhancing the almost comical dip where his other cheekbone was shattered and caved in. “M-married?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” she waved a hand at him and smiled sweetly. “We been tryin’ to get him to make an honest woman outta her for a year now. Think he’s finally gonna do it too, so he don’t take kindly <em>ta dogs sniffing around his chew toy</em>…if ya know what I mean?” She winked and stepped toward the stairs. </p><p>“Wait.” She stopped with her back to him and Liam growled low in his chest, angry and frustrated with the entire situation. </p><p>
  <em>He kidnapped her, held her here for God knows how long, forced her to help him. And now he’s going to force her to marry him? What the fuck is wrong with this dude? This is fucking sick…</em>
</p><p>“What kind of game?” Liam hated himself for asking the question, hated the way she turned and her curls bounced angelically around her face as she excitedly moved towards him. </p><p>
  <em>I just have to stay alive long enough to figure out how to get the fuck out here. I’ll take her with me - I’ll get us both out. I’ll kill him if I have to. </em>
</p><p>“Do ya like music, pretty boy?” Liam didn’t answer, he simply stared at her with hard eyes. “I had this one song I always loved growin’ up. Used ta ask Papaw Blevins ta play it on the record player over and over again ‘til he got sicka me askin’ and shut the damn thing off.” </p><p>She sighed wistfully and started sifting through Herschel’s record collection. “I don’t have a record player, you know. So when Papaw Blevins died, there wa’n’t no point in takin’ the record. I made Herschel take it - I’m here more than I’m at Cousin Josiah’s, I live up the road, see - and I always try ta make it a point to hear it at least once while I’m here.” </p><p>She glanced over her shoulder and smiled - Liam thought that it would have been one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen if he wasn’t sure she was insane. “I always did think this would be better if there was a little piano in the song - ya ever get that feelin’? Like it’s just <em>missin</em>’ somethin’?” She smirked at him as she pulled a record from it’s sleeve and set it gingerly on the record player. “I think <em>this </em>needs a little piano, and you’re gonna help me, so I can hear it just right. Sound good to you?”</p><p>Liam fought the grin that threatened to take over his expression, the thought of being able to deny her what she wanted was too satisfying. “I don’t play piano, lady.” He shrugged and muttered a half-hearted apology.</p><p>Cheyenne was undeterred. She gently set the needle on the record and the room filled with the crackle of metal on vinyl. “That’s okay darlin’,” she said as she turned to him, her smile suddenly hungry as she ran her tongue over her teeth. “I’ll teach ya…”</p><p>The low crackling of the record spinning beneath the needle quickly changed to a female voice that filled the room with a cheery, upbeat country twang and Cheyenne swayed her hips and sang along for a moment before turning to Liam. “Ya see? Needs piano!” </p><p>He watched warily as she moved a few crates of records, a couple of dusty boxes, and folded a sheet back from what turned out to be a small piano. It acted as a table for a collection of things that cluttered the top and made it easy to miss, but a few quick taps with her fingers confirmed for them both that it still worked. Cheyenne clapped her hands together and turned to him, the wicked grin pinned to her lips in what seemed to be the most threatening expression he had seen from her yet. </p><p>She kicked a chair across the floor, sending it sliding over the concrete until it stopped only a few inches from Liam. He stared for a second, silently weighing his options, trying to determine exactly how dangerous this tiny, blonde, ball of energy was. He looked at her and she tilted her head, that same smile still stretched across her lips but not quite meeting the ravenous glint in her eyes - <em>Herschel’s eyes</em>, he thought to himself. </p><p>“Sit, wouldja?” She gestured to the chair and Liam sighed.</p><p>He slowly stood, adjusting his balance to accommodate the thick collar and heavy rope that Herschel had used to anchor him to the floor. Liam clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face went taut with barely contained disdain and rage, but he obliged her and sat in the chair. “Whatever you want, Princess,” he muttered bitterly. </p><p>She pointed at his arms and moved her finger in little circles, “Hands on the arm rest darlin’, sit pretty as a picture for me!” Liam’s patience was wearing thin but he wasn’t eager to see the crazy that he could see just below the surface of her pretty exterior, so he set his arms up where she wanted and pulled in a deep breath. “Perfect! Just <em>perfect</em>,” she crooned at him softly. “You just sit there, we’re a hop, skip, and a jump away from our little lesson.” </p><p>“I just need…” Cheyenne trailed off as she rummaged in a box behind Liam, he waited, his fingers tapping against the cheap leather padding covering the metal arm. “Here!”</p><p>She was beside him before he could turn, expertly looping a length of rope around his wrist to secure him tightly to the chair. Before he could protest, she had run the cord over his chest, around his body and was already working on his other wrist. “What the fuck is -”</p><p>“Okay, I’m ready!” She quickly gave the chair a shove, surprising Liam with how easily she moved him across the floor to the piano. “You hear that rhythm? Just put your fingers on  these keys -” she demonstrated with her fingers “- and hit the chords in time with the music! It’s an easy two chords!”</p><p>Liam stared at her, dumbfounded. </p><p>“Well,” she pouted at him with an exaggerated lower lip. “Whatcha waitin’ for?” </p><p>He waved his fingers at her, “I can’t exactly do much like this, lady…”</p><p>“Oh,” she set her hands on her hips and tilted her head, staring at him for a moment like a cat staring at a mouse just before it pounced. “I suppose you need to be <em>closer</em>,” she emphasized the word as she gave his chair another shove towards the piano, forcing Liam’s fingers to collide with the browning keys of the old instrument, producing a sharp cacophony of sound from the old chords. </p><p>“Much better!” She chirped at him, her voice was irritatingly bright and set Liam’s nerves on edge, pushing him closer to the point of wanting to snap. “Now, just sit up straight,” she pinched the back of his neck sharply, forcing him to jerk his spine upright. “Put your fingers where I said, and give it a go!”</p><p>Liam gave the keys a half hearted tap but stopped when her overexaggerated sigh pierced the air between them. </p><p>“No, that’s all wrong Sweet Pea. I’m just gonna have to show ya.” </p><p>She turned and walked back to Herschel’s table, moving the needle back to the outer edge of the vinyl record to start the song over, the sound of the woman’s voice cutting the silence in the basement once again. Cheyenne turned back to him, but Liam was no longer fixated on her impish grin, his thoughts were entirely consumed by the way the knife in her hands reflected bright streaks of light as she turned it over and over again in her hands, the sharp tip pressed to the pad of her index finger as she spun the weapon skillfully. </p><p>She advanced on him slowly, prowling across the floor with the same lithe movements of a mountain lion stalking a weaker animal, completely confident in how far outmatched he was against her. “Don’t worry Sweetie, I’ll teach ya how to do it, just like I promised ya.” </p><p>
  <em>To be continued… </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Wildflowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herschel and Songbird spend some time together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNING: <br/>Shameless fluff, trauma bonding, mild mentions of captivity…honestly this is fucking soft and idk how to warn you that I may have written real fluff…</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/46Nz7uguhTyUWOXhRBbzxa?si=ORDiPsY7TQi56dYUIqN-Qw">RECORD: Wildflowers by The Wailin' Jennys</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=Uwhpy5b4T_O_zTt4bS65Qg">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Herschel folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the porch railing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his lips quirked up in a small smile as the summer breeze drifted over him and the warmth of the summer sun sent a wave of tingles across his skin. These days were his favorite, they were the ones that reminded him when his life was simpler, happier, when his family was still together. Days when he and Cheyenne played out in the yard when the grass got tall and the cicadas sang loud enough to drown out the sound of his Momma calling them for lunch. He sighed, the sound long and content against the sound of bird chirping in the trees, and looked across the yard. </p><p>The sunshine filtered across the sky like a haze, bright yellow that layered over the blues and greens that surrounded him. He looked through the long threads of light that stretched across his vision and his gaze settled on his Songbird, quietly hanging laundry on the clothesline. Her curls bounced freely with each move she made, adding to the carefree way she radiated happiness and ease while she worked. </p><p>Her hands worked comfortably, nimble fingers worked the clothespins with the same precise movements as his Momma, and, for a moment, Herschel could see her standing at that same clothesline, smiling as she stretched the soft white cotton sheets across the line. Songbird smoothed the sheets out, the sound of the cloth snapping in the air carried across the yard and silenced the birds for a moment. It was as if the world went still, as if everything was waiting on Songbird to move again, as if she brought life back to it all with every little move of her hands, with every step she took through the grass. </p><p>She set the last pins on the sheet, anchoring it in place as the cotton swayed gently in the wind. As if she could feel him watching her, Songbird set her hands on her hips and looked up at him. The sun shone behind her, lighting her up like a firefly against the night sky. She brought a hand up to shield her vision as she set the other on her hip, her lips pulled in a brilliant smile as she gazed up at him. He couldn’t ignore the way the sun looked like a halo behind her, setting her apart from the rest of the world like an angel sent to watch over him. He felt warmer under her gaze, the sun felt brighter and the breeze felt fresher. Everything felt better when she looked at him like that; the ache in his soul eased, the pain that knife through him with each heartbeat faded, and the dull throb of anger that lived like a darkness in the back of his mind disappeared in her light. </p><p>He smiled back at her, unable to stop himself from responding to the burst of light that she so effortlessly brought to his world. She didn’t belong here, she deserved to be as free as the birds that flitted through the trees and sang at her from the canopy of the forest. She deserved to feel as free as the wind, she deserved to soar freely with nothing more than her heart’s desires to guide her. Herschel knew that he didn’t deserve her, he didn’t deserve the way that she thawed the cruelties of his mind like springtime thawed the deep ice left from winter. She was too good for everything about his world, about him, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to let her go. </p><p>She picked up the wicker clothes basket and tucked it under her arm, setting it gently on her hip as she moved gracefully through the grass. She floated in his vision, like the bright colors of wildflowers in the tall yellowing grass. He leaned comfortably on the porch as he watched her walk back to the house, he knew she didn’t belong there with him but it still felt so familiar, so comfortable to watch her move so easily in his world. She set the basket down on the steps and ran a hand lightly down his arm, looking up at him with a glimmer of adoration and understanding in her eyes that made his heart clench and somehow loosened the knot in his stomach. </p><p>Herschel wrapped an arm around Songbird and pulled her close to him, he pressed her tightly to his chest as he closed his eyes and focused on the scent of honey and sunshine in her hair. Her hands fluttered lightly around his waist as she laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as they let the moment wash over them like the gentle current of the crick over the rocks at the edge of the water. She hummed softly, the small sound of quiet contentment vibrated against his chest and Herschel tightened his arm around her. </p><p>The thought of standing there without her, with nothing but the bright sunshine and the flowers in the grass crossed his mind and his smile faltered for a moment. He knew it wasn’t right, that it was unfair to Songbird, but he coveted her. He craved her like strong coffee early in the morning or a good whiskey after a hard day. She breathed a life into him that he hadn’t felt in too long, something he had convinced himself that he’d never have again. </p><p>He knew that one day she’d realize that she was better than all this, better than him, and fly away like the pretty birds that left in the fall, but he dreaded the moment that he lost her. He dreaded the mornings that he knew he would wake up, cold and alone in his bed, the crisp feeling of the Tennessee wind gone from his sheets, the lingering warmth of her breath disappeared from the pillows. He knew that one day he’d no longer feel her soft curls, the flutter of her lashes on his skin as she woke up in the mornings, the soft heat of her body against his. </p><p>Herschel closed his eyes and softly touched his lips to her forehead, pressing a soft kiss to her skin as he tamped down the darkness that moved quietly within him at the thought of her leaving him. She looked up at him and bit her lip, her gaze warm and trusting as she searched his expression. She softly touched her fingers to his jaw, silently asking permission before she moved up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. He threaded his hands around her waist and pulled her body against his, he made a low sound of appreciation at the way her body bent pliantly to his as he lifted her off her feet and her arms wrapped around his neck. Their lips met again, coming together in a moment of bruising need and passionate yearning. </p><p>She whimpered softly and Herschel pulled away softly. He lowered her to the ground, fighting his desire to keep her pressed against him, breathless and needy as he buried himself in her warmth. He watched her eyes flutter closed for a moment and his breath caught in his throat as the sudden realization of how much she felt like home crossed his mind. Songbird felt more like home than anything else he had ever known, and he was desperate to keep that from slipping through his fingers. </p><p>His grip flexed at her back as she pulled away from him. She smoothed out the front of his shirt, her hands moved affectionately across his chest and shoulders as she smiled up at him. Her blue eyes sparkled, full to the brim with kindness and compassion that he knew he would never deserve. “Come on, Darlin’,” he said softly as he turned toward the house, “pour me a glass of your sweet tea?” </p><p>She nodded and smiled brightly at him, brushing her fingers last one time over his chest before she turned and moved towards the door. Herschel opened the screen, held it open for her, and pressed a hand softly to the small of her back as she moved past him. He sighed as she disappeared into the kitchen, and for the first time in his life, Herschel felt the urge to pray. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Piano Fingers (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Liam and Cheyenne start to have some fun!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNING: <br/>DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! VERY creepy whumper, fingore, hand gore, fingers in wound, tendon pulling, blood, spit in face, spit in wound, knives, bowie knife, tied to chair, mention of traumatic past, mention of family problems, sadistic games, angry whumper<br/>THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF BODY GORE</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/6VzM9C7CXyn1BQdgTJVqDx?si=7wk3LD-tQkKgZF9hBbYv-A">RECORD: Shotgun by Jr. Walker &amp; The All Stars</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=Uwhpy5b4T_O_zTt4bS65Qg">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Liam watched as Cheyenne twirled the knife in her hand, the tip pressed to her finger as she rotated it menacingly in her relaxed grip. She walked slowly, the little bounce in her step betraying exactly how excited she was. He swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes from the knife and yet somehow too intently focused on her alarming smile in his peripherals. </p><p>She laid the knife on the keys of the piano, taunting Liam with how close it was to his fingers. He strained his hand against the ropes, stretching his fingers as he tried desperately to touch the blade, to at least brush his skin across the shining metal despite knowing that she’d never give him enough freedom to use it. It was a game, one that he recognized instantly. She watched him intently, her blue eyes sparkling with childish glee as he looked desperately at the knife, both of them all too aware that even if he could get a grip on it, she’d never let him use it. </p><p>Cheyenne nudged it a little closer to his fingers, the sharp tip of the blade easily within his reach now. “Go on then Darlin’,” she teased, “take it. I won’t stop ya.”</p><p>He glared at her for a moment, clenched his jaw hard enough to send a spike of pain through his cheek where the bone was still shattered beneath his eye, but said nothing. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him, he didn’t want her to know that her taunting was settling deep in the back of his mind and made him want to scream just to drown out her voice. He didn’t want her to know that she was already winning, that he was already losing himself in the desperation that she was so effortlessly coaxing to the surface.</p><p>“Whatsa matter?” Her voice was slick with dark humor, the lilt in her tone hinting at the edge of a laugh as Liam’s fingers brushed uselessly against the blade of the knife. She bent down and brought her lips close to his ear, close enough that he felt the tingle of her breath as she whispered. “Don’tcha want it?” She spun the knife around on the keys, letting it rest so that the handle was within reach of his fingers, and she tapped it just a bit closer. “I don’t know what’s stoppin’ ya?” </p><p>Liam shot her a sharp look and flexed his fingers again, using every bit of force he could manage in an effort to extend his reach just enough to close around the wooden handle of the bowie knife. He hooked his middle finger on the handle and crooked his finger, trying to bring it closer but instead he sent it clattering to the floor. He let out a desperate, frustrated huff of air and closed his eyes against the weight of his failure. </p><p>Cheyenne laughed, openly mocking him as she trailed her fingers playfully across his earlobe. He jerked his head away and glared at her, anger roiling in his chest as she reached out and flicked his ear again just to prove that she could. </p><p>“Oh come on, I just wanna have a little fun Darlin’. Why you bein’ a spoilsport?” </p><p>The song ended and the record player went quiet, leaving only the sound of the crackle of the needle at the inner edge of the vinyl to cut through the tension between them. Cheyenne narrowed her eyes at him for a second and Liam could practically see that a new, terrifying idea she had running through her mind, as if it was reflected in the chilly blue of her eyes. His stomach tightened involuntarily, clenched with dread as she stared at him - took inventory of him. </p><p>“You don’t wanna play, do ya?” Her voice was soft, almost gentle despite the way her eyes seemed to cut viciously through him with every look. </p><p>Liam set his jaw and shook his head, “I’m sick of games, lady.”</p><p>She nodded and picked up the knife, slid it back into the sheath that was attached to her belt, and leaned against the piano. The clatter of keys didn’t bother her, and the low hum of the vibrating chords seemed to ease the stiffness in her body. Cheyenne crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, silent and intent, until Liam couldn’t help but squirm in his chair. </p><p>“Momma played piano,” she said softly as she stared at him. Liam froze, his brows pulled together in a confused frown at the sudden change in her voice. “She tried ta teach me, but I was never any good at it. She said that some people are just born for it, some people ain’t. Somethin’ about how your fingers naturally move.” </p><p>Liam relaxed a little, hopeful that the change in her body language meant that she had changed focus and was done with her awful game. “I never took lessons, my parents didn’t care about stuff like that.”</p><p>She nodded, “Where are they now? Yer Momma and Daddy? They at home wonderin’ where yer at?”</p><p>“No,” he said quickly, but Cheyenne didn’t miss the sharp edge to his response.</p><p>“Not in touch with them?” He looked at the wall ahead of him and shook his head, fighting to keep his face blank. “Why not? They’re your family, right? Ya don’t love ‘em?” </p><p>He swallowed and looked back at her. “Genetics don’t make family. They were fucked up, I left when I was 16 and never went back. I don’t give a fuck what they’re doing now.”</p><p>She nodded in understanding and gave him a moment of silence to tamp down the emotions that he was struggling to keep from spilling over. “I miss my Momma,” the corners of her mouth twitched in a small smile and Liam stared, watching carefully for any sign of where she was going with the trip down memory lane. “I could never sit still an’ let ‘er teach me nothin’, sorta like how you can’t stop fidgeting, Sweet Pea.” </p><p>Liam shuddered at the pet name, and suddenly any hope he had of her giving up on her game was gone. She dropped herself into his lap and hooked a leg over his arm, adding the weight of her thigh to the pull of the ropes that kept him in place. </p><p>“I’m gonna loosen this up a bit and move ya,” she glanced up at him with a wary glance. Liam noticed the dark look that hid beneath the painted smile and his stomach dropped. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid and make me have ta kill ya, kay?”</p><p>The threat fell from her lips so nonchalantly that it took Liam a moment to fully register it. She moved quickly, leaning her weight on his forearm as she loosened the rope and turned his arm over so that his palm was turned outward. He clenched his fist as she retied the rope, grateful for the momentary reprieve from the hard lines of the rope on his bare skin. She gave the rope a sharp yank and he winced, the rough twine of the bindings chafed instantly against his skin like a rug burn. </p><p>She sat up straight and rested her back against his chest as she looked at him. Were they in a bar or a club, he’d have thought she was flirting with him. She looked at him with a minx like smile and her eyes glittered with mischievous excitement. Cheyenne bit her lip and traced his jaw with a finger, “does Herschel tell ya how pretty ya are?” </p><p>Liam rolled his eyes and lifted his chin away from her touch. “No, he isn’t exactly a sweetheart.” </p><p>“Oh, come on now! He’s plenty sweet!” She stood up and glanced back at the record player. “It’s gotten so quiet, let me change the record, you just wait here a minute.” She bounced to the record player and flipped easily through the records on the table, humming as she decided. “You just gotta get to know ‘im is all,” she said over her shoulder. “He’s always been a fun one, ya know? Gets this cute pinched up look when ya pick on ‘im.” Cheyenne lifted a record up and held it to the light, but shook her head and slid it back into its sleeve. “He’s smart too, always was the smartest kid in ‘is classes. And -” she made a sound of excitement as she pulled a record from another sleeve and set it on the record player. She set the needle on the vinyl and turned back to Liam, “ya probably don’t know this about ‘im. But Herschel plays the piano.” </p><p>Liam’s stomach twisted as he realized she had never given up on the game at all, she had just found a way to draw it out. The record started playing and the basement was full of the sounds of an old Jr. Walker song that Liam vaguely recognized. She danced her way across the room to him, her hips swayed and bounced with the beat. </p><p>“He told me that there’s a way to move yer fingers just right, but some people physically just can’t do it.”</p><p>Liam felt panic surge in his chest as she reached for the bowie knife at her hip. “I - I’m sure that I’m one of those people. But thanks for trying,” he mumbled as she slid the knife free. </p><p>Cheyenne licked her lips and pressed a kiss to the knife, leaving a smudge of lip gloss across the shiny surface of the blade. “I’d try to stay still if I was you,” she pressed the tip of the blade to his palm and pushed just enough to make Liam inhale sharply. “I wouldn’t wanna slip and slice right through yer hand, would I?” </p><p>Liam opened his mouth to respond, his mind scrambling to find the words to beg her not to open the flesh of his palm. But Cheyenne drew the blade across his skin in a quick flash of motion, her hand eerily steady as blood beaded from the smooth line that now divided the skin of his open palm. Liam hissed in pain and his fingers twitched to close over the wound, but she pressed on it with the knife in silent warning and he forced his hand to still. </p><p>“See, I knew ya could be good for me,” she crooned at him. She carded a hand through his hair as she twisted the tip of the knife at the edge of his wound, sending a sharp jolt of pain up his arm. </p><p>“What the fuck,” he rasped, his voice almost lost in the pain. He jerked uselessly against the ropes, instinct propelling his body into motion despite his mind knowing that he was trapped. </p><p>Cheyenne giggled again, the sound suddenly heavy with malicious joy that made his blood run cold. She sat back down in his lap, her back pressed to his chest, and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Just relax for me, Darlin’, ain’t no use in fightin’ what’s already done.” She gave the knife another sharp twist before she pulled it away, Liam hissed in pain and cursed under his breath. He closed his eyes and tried to force the pain to the back of his mind, desperate to lose himself in some far off reality where he didn’t have to face the rest of whatever game she had planned. </p><p>She tapped his cheek twice, hard enough to make his eyes snap open with quiet anger. “Stay with me, Sweet Pea. We ain’t done yet.”</p><p>Liam yanked his chin away from her hand, his mind desperate to separate him from her. “Go fuck yourself, you crazy bitch.” </p><p>Cheyenne’s eyes lit up and her smile widened. “There’s that fire Hershey was talkin’ ‘bout! I was startin’ to think he was lyin’ to me!” She shifted in his lap, adjusting her body so that she could lay her hand on his cheek and force his gaze back to hers. She searched his face, her eyes flitting across his features as she watched the anger darken his eyes. “Lordy,” she said breathlessly, “Yer just so damn pretty when you’re pissed Darlin’. I can see why he wanted ya.” </p><p>Liam glared at her for a second, anger rising in his chest like bile. His mouth twitched in a sneer and he spit at her, spattering it across her face. His fury quickly faded as he watched her mouth twist in a terrifying smile, the dark glimmer in her eyes turned sharp and dangerous and her lapis eyes could have sliced through him as easily as the knife sheathed at her waist. </p><p>She twisted and jabbed a sharp elbow into his stomach, digging hard against him as he choked on the involuntary gasp of air. “All I wanted -” she elbowed him again and Liam gagged on the pain, unable to pull in enough air to cry out. “- was to see if you could play -” Cheyenne elbowed him again and Liam wheezed as pain lanced through him. “- the <em>fucking </em>piano.” </p><p>Liam coughed as she got off his lap, he bent forward as far as the ropes would allow in a desperate attempt to ease the deep throb in his abdomen, he struggled to take a full breath against the ache. She pressed her knee into his palm, leaning her body weight against the fresh wound. Liam cried out with what little air he had in his lungs, his voice ragged and desperate as he struggled against the rope. Cheyenne said nothing, she stared down at him with a deep, biting anger as the sound of the ‘60s era record filled the basement, the classic lyrics added an almost comical element to Liam’s horror. </p><p>Cheyenne moved quickly, she pushed hard against his hand as she dragged her knee a few inches to the side until it pinned Liam’s fingers to the wood. He fought to catch his breath, a string of obscenities ready at the tip of his tongue if he could just make his voice work for anything more than his screams. </p><p>“It’s like I was sayin’ before ya had to go and <em>ruin </em>my good fuckin’ mood,” she glared at him as she shoved her forefinger into the wound the spread across his palm. </p><p>Liam’s voice broke through the hot flair of sensation that ripped through his hand and up his arm, his scream was breathless and hoarse, dragging across his vocal cords as if Cheyenne were physically pulling it from his lungs. </p><p>“<em>Here </em>we go -” She crooked her finger in the gash and curled it under the tendons. She grinned at the broken scream that dropped from Liam’s lips and wiggled her finger. “<em>Don’t do anything stupid, ya hear me</em>?” She hissed the command at him, her voice dangerously devoid of her usual mischievous cheer. </p><p>Liam panted heavily against the pain, his mind scrambled to grasp the overwhelming sensation as she lifted her knee from his fingers and the blood surged back into his appendages. The pain changed with the added sensation, but Liam couldn’t follow it as it moved through the spaces of his mind and overwhelmed his thoughts. </p><p>Liquid fire tore through him as she pulled sharply on the tendons, lifting them from his palm until they resisted and his fingers were curled into themselves. She smirked at him and wiggled her fingers again, watching as his fingers moved in response. Liam’s mouth gaped open, his mind unable to connect to his lungs as he keened weakly. Cheyenne bit her lip and gave the tendons a vicious tug, her glare was dangerously satisfied as Liam jerked back against the chair and another gasping scream for mercy pierced the air around them. </p><p>The needle on the record player reached the end of the track and Cheyenne slid her fingers from the stretched tendons and the gouged laceration. Liam sagged against the chair, his head fell back and tears slid down his temples and disappeared into his hair. He sobbed as relief washed over him, the tension in his body crumbled and he silently thanked God that her fingers were out of his hand and the music had stopped. </p><p>She wrapped her fingers in his hair and snapped his head forward, forcing him to look up at her. Her gaze was hard, laced with cruelty that made Liam shiver and cringe away from her. “When Herschel said you were an ass, I hoped it meant you were strong,” she said quietly. Her voice danced over the layer of pain that threaded itself through his nerves and sat, waiting to pull him back down at the slightest move of his body. “But yer just as weak and <em>pathetic </em>as the rest of ‘em.” She glared down at him and Liam let out a shuddering breath, his lungs too weak to summon a response. “I hope he gives ya to Josiah so he can put yer wretched ass in the ground. Herschel deserves better.”</p><p>She released his hair with a shove and Liam let his head roll to the side. His body felt like jello, unable to fight back as the fading adrenaline sapped him of what little energy he had left. She watched him for a moment and laughed, filling the basement with her manic giggles once again. She sighed and grinned at him, her eyes once again alive with the same mischievous glitter that her game had started with. </p><p>Cheyenne forced his fingers open, flattening his palm with ease. She stared at her handiwork and licked her lips, then spit into the open wound before curling his fingers into a fist. “There ya go honey,” she said as she patted his hand, “somethin’ ta remember me by.” Liam groaned and let his eyes close, welcoming the darkness that hovered at the edge of his vision. He vaguely heard footsteps on the stairs and Cheyenne commenting on the need to keep an eye on him around Songbird, but he drifted into the fog and lost her voice in the safety of unconsciousness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Church</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The family goes to Sunday Church</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THIS IS PART ONE OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH LONESOMEHUNTER AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187187/chapters/55504210">THE DEVIL'S HIGHWAY</a>!</p><p>CONTENT WARNING: <br/>DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! VERY creepy whumper, religious setting, some preaching (ACTUAL preaching, not Herschel’s nut case preaching), praying, mentions of past victims, trauma bonding, moments of whumper being legitimately kind, fucked up relationship between whumper and whumpee, lady whump, lady whumpee</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/03HbxaCm8eBHLxbfdRRQ2e?si=OOQUfN1fTZ2OUfgTvx2DSg">RECORD: Wild Horses (Acoustic) by Bishop Briggs</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=TJS1J-zWRfK52PqYc4Nt-Q">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Songbird rested her head against the window of Herschel’s beat up Ford truck, oddly soothed by the way the worn-in seats seemed to vibrate in response to the uneven ground. The day was unusually warm, the sunshine melting the snow so that bright green patches of grass peaked from the remnants of the late winter storm, melted snow trickled in chilly rivulets into the roads. </p><p>“Josiah said he’d be comin’ today,” Herschel glanced at her as he spoke softly. He knew that she’d been hoping Josiah would show up, it always seemed to lift her spirits to have the family at Church with her. “You know it’s that time of year for him - when he lost Turtledove.” </p><p>She gave him a sad smile and nodded. Songbird was too aware of how difficult it was for Josiah to deal with his grief; he hid it well but even after so long he still mourned her. He showed up at church a few times a year, but she could always count on him around the end of winter, when he was caught up in thoughts of what he had lost. </p><p>Herschel turned his attention back to the road, but Songbird kept her eyes on him, admiring the lines of his face as he focused on the drive ahead of them. She appreciated Sunday mornings; the quiet of the drive as he took them to the little church, the easy way he spoke to her as the peace of their routine settled his soul for just a little while, the way the tension in his shoulders seemed to fade for just a little while. </p><p>They pulled up to the quaint little chapel, the white painted wood of the simple building stood out in stark contrast to the deep greens and browns of the mountains around them. The little house of worship always struck Songbird like a glimpse of God amidst the wonders of the earth. </p><p>She kept her hands folded in her lap as Herschel parked the truck and got out. It was impossible to hide her smile of gratitude when he walked around to the passenger side, as he did every time he took her anywhere, opened the truck door for her and offered his hand to help her slide from the old bucket seat to the still frozen ground. </p><p>The shadow of the cross that perched atop the steeple spread long and dark across the ground, as if God himself were reaching for them, inviting them into the warmth and safety of His embrace. Songbird sighed contentedly, the gentle familiarity of their Sunday morning routine always served as a calming and consistent reminder of what she saw beneath the touch of the Devil in Herschel. It was a small reassurance that he could be better, that he could still be saved if she continued to treat him with gentle patience and forgiveness. </p><p>Herschel never pulled his hand from hers, they stayed close together in the same genuine moment of affection that always came with church mornings. The serenity of the day tied them together with a nearly unbreakable bond that neither one of them questioned or pushed against. They leisurely walked, side by side, across the shadow of the cross and into the single room of the little mountain church, and settled into a pew off to the side - Songbird took care to ensure that they were easy to find for when Josiah turned up. She was all too aware that it would be a difficult day for him and she wanted to be sure he could be close to them, to be sure that she could easily reach out and lend him support should he need it.  </p><p>It wasn’t long before the congregation had filled the pews and the Preacher was standing at the pulpit smiling and saying hellos. Josiah slipped into the pew beside her and Songbird gave him a bright smile in welcome. </p><p>“Hey Tweety,” he said gruffly before nodding at Herschel. He looked tired, his eyes ringed with dark circles that betrayed his casual smile and made it clear that he hadn’t slept well the night before, possibly a few nights before that. His usually clean shaven face was shadowed with stubble, and his hair was simply combed to the side rather than delicately styled as he typically preferred. She noted the lingering wrinkles in his button down shirt, internally wondering if his new boy wasn’t quite up to the housework he required. </p><p>She set a hand gently on his arm, passing him a look of gentle concern that he waved off with his practiced smile. “I’ll be alright, Sugar. No need ta worry ‘bout me. Just hopin’ you got some more eggs for me?” </p><p>Songbird’s smile brightened and she nodded, Herschel answered for her - seamlessly intuiting her thoughts that she wouldn’t verbalize. “They’re out in the truck, the chickens are layin’ fine so she packed extra this week.” </p><p>“‘Preciate it, been missin’ my usual breakfast this week.”</p><p>The Preacher cleared his throat and they turned their attention forward. Songbird absentmindedly ran her fingers over the soft leather cover of her bible as the Preacher started his sermon. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Today I thank you God, for blessing us with another opportunity to be in His house and I come to you tonight Lord and I ask you that you hide us behind the cross. That you help us God and forgive us our sins. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Josiah leaned over and whispered, “Ya know bein’ here ain’t gonna do nothin’ for me, Songbird.” He rolled his eyes as she shot him a reproachful look, but he went quiet and sat up straight, arms folded across his chest. Songbird patted his arm gently, offering a small gesture of thanks as she turned her attention back to the Preacher as his sermon carried through the chapel. </p><p>His voice rolled through the pews, reaching out to touch everyone in the little room as they murmured comments of agreement to his rhetoric. The jumble of passionate ‘amen’s and ‘thank you God’s settled over Songbird like a warm blanket, and she allowed herself to be drawn into the warmth and safety of the congregation. </p><p>
  <em>That we may be obedient to Your will, Lord. That we may be feeble and hungry but that You may take your word and feed us, Your faithful servants on Earth, to give us strength.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, savoring the feeling of what she was sure was pure faith as it filled her chest and eased the worry that she carried in her heart. She splayed her fingers over the open pages of her Bible, lost in the quiet flutter of the soft pages. She focused on pulling strength from the words beneath her fingers, determined to live in quiet grace just like God’s words - always at the tips of her fingers should she need them but never a loud or imposing presence in her life. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Strength to resist temptation and free ourselves of the bondage of sin. That You, our Lord God, show us the way to release ourselves from the bondage that we inflict upon ourselves in our trespass of faith and our weakness against sin. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Herschel sighed and laid a hand on her thigh. It was warm and heavy on her lap, offering an added layer of comfort as Songbird felt the familiar safety that came with touches like this. She rested her head on his shoulder as she considered the silent promise of protection that the simple gesture provided, only asking that she continue to have faith in him and help him make himself better in the eyes of the Lord in exchange. </p><p>He glanced down at her and his lips curved in a gentle smile, crinkling the corners of his blue eyes just enough to make Songbird flush a pretty shade of pink. She loved him like this, calm and soothing, easy and soft. She closed her eyes and thought a quick prayer, asking God to keep him soft for her. </p><p>
  <em>That you feed us with Your word so that when the Devil himself rises up to tempt us, we may see the path You have laid out for us to lead us away from sin. Give us the strength, oh Lord, that we may resist the temptation to stray away from You, our Lord God, and Your light.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Josiah stiffened beside her, the dark shadow of a memory passed over his face as he recalled his sin, the way he had let his darkness consume another - destroy another. Songbird could feel the tension in his muscles radiating from him, quivering in the air like the vibration cast by the strings on a violin. </p><p>He was all too aware of how far he had strayed from God’s light, how deep he had allowed himself to be pulled into the darkness of his desires. He had faced the devil more than once, and given him more and more of his soul with each sinister encounter, falling deeper into the pits of depravity as the years went on. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Behold the Lamb of God, that You have sent unto us, blessed with the power to relieve us of our sins and free us from the chains of Satan. God hath promised us His love, His assurance that if we know Him in our hearts, stay true to Him in our souls, that we shall know His love. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She laced her fingers in Herschel’s, clinging softly to the firm grip of his hand as if she could anchor him in the light that she felt in the air around her. Songbird had no doubt that God was with her, that she had him safely in her heart and that she would be rewarded for her faith. But Herschel struggled, and she yearned to bring him closer to the Lord so that he could feel the same serenity that she so often experienced - even in the face of her worst nightmares.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>God promises to bring judgement down on those who have forgotten him, who have wandered into the arms of Satan. He hath assured us that should we forget Him and put our faith in temptation and sin, we will feel the wrath of the Almighty Lord’s displeasure. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Josiah leaned forward and put his head in his hands, ducking his face out of the Preacher’s sight. Songbird let him sit for a moment, she chose to ignore the tears that she saw fall into his lap to allow him to feel as though he were preserving his dignity. The moment of vulnerability touched Songbird’s heart, made her want to wrap him as tightly in her small embrace as she could. Josiah would have been ashamed if he knew she had noticed, Songbird knew that he’d have felt it was showing weakness - something that both boys had been taught at an early age by their Papaw Blevins. </p><p>He took a deep breath and sat up, the hard mask of indifference settled over his features as he pulled a flask from the back pocket of his jeans and took a long draw. He glanced down at Songbird as he tucked it away, sure that he would find a scowl of disapproval on her angelic features. She surprised him by tenderly brushing a stray lock of his uncombed strawberry blonde hair from his face, setting it back in its place before she lightly caressed his jawline with the backs of her fingers. </p><p>Another tear slipped, a tiny crack in the veneer of his carefully constructed exterior. He looked down at her sadly, but he wasn’t seeing Songbird. He was looking at his Turtledove, mourning the loss of his angel. He was hating himself for breaking her, for taking her from a world that never deserved her in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Our faith in God, in His way, is what will lead us to the gates of Heaven and into His holy light. But those that forget God and languish in the sins of the flesh, in the sins of our own wrath and anger, in the sins of envy, will be cast out from His grace and left to simmer in the fiery pits of Hell. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Herschel watched his cousin closely, observing the flickers of emotion that danced on his features as Songbird comforted him. He had spoken of Turtledove only a few times in the 16 years since she had been sent home to God, but it was clear that she still haunted Josiah. His feelings for her were still potent enough to encourage him to warn Herschel against making the same mistakes that he had; he had warned him to take care not to drive Songbird away, not to break her spirit. He had whispered to him in the cool night air almost three years ago that Songbird was a gift, one that Herschel should take care not to squander in the same manner he had.</p><p>He knew that his cousin was right. It wasn’t lost on him how faithfully she took care of him, how hard she pushed for him to keep himself right with the Lord, how hard she tried to love him without hesitation. Herschel was all too aware of the fact that he didn’t deserve her, that he didn’t deserve her devotion or affection. And he was all too aware that he would likely break her the same way Josiah had broken his Turtledove; that he would destroy her so completely that she would beg for death.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Josiah stood before the congregation could even finish uttering the final prayer, muttering to Herschel that he would see them at his place for brunch and making a beeline for the door. When he disappeared from view and Songbird was sure that he wouldn’t come back, she finally let her sadness for him show. Her shoulders sagged and she looked up at Herschel with worry in her eyes. </p><p>“I know Darlin’,” Herschel said softly. “But you’ll cheer him up a bit when we get to his place. He always likes to hear you sing.” Songbird bit her lip and nodded, but the troubled expression didn’t ease. “Come on, we’d better get going if we want to beat Cheyenne to Josiah’s.” </p><p>He started to make his way down the aisle but Songbird reached out and took his hand, gently pulling him to a stop. She looked at him imploringly as he turned back to her, pleading with him with her eyes. Herschel thought for a moment, but realization quickly dawned on him and he nodded. “You’re right, baby. I promised.”</p><p>She watched intently as he walked slowly towards the front of the Chapel, his eyes fixed on the ten foot cross that was perched to the far left of the stage. Despite being no more than plain wood and a faded layer of paint, it loomed over him as if it could see into his soul, as if it were a pair of eyes that knew every dark thought that lurked in his mind, every wicked impulse that ran through his veins, and every sin that marred his flesh. </p><p>He dropped to his knees and let his hands hang at his sides, palms turned towards the cross as he looked up at it. Herschel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, praying that God would pull the Devil from his soul and ease the burning need for violence that devoured him from the inside and made him itch until he fed the Demon within him. </p><p>Songbird stood behind him and laid a hand on the back of Herschel’s head. She bowed her head and pressed her eyes closed, praying from the darkest corners of her mind for Herschel to be saved from the wicked fate that he was quickly headed towards. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Brunch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The family gets together for Sunday Brunch</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THIS IS PART TWO OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH LONESOMEHUNTER AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187187/chapters/55504210">THE DEVIL'S HIGHWAY</a>!</p><p>CONTENT WARNINGS: <br/>GORE, forced body suspension, hooks in skin, torture, blood, references to torture, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, multiple whumpers, lady whumper, lady whumpee, starvation, dehydration, captivity, dehumanization, alcohol, humiliation, restrained, muzzled, chained up, mentions of past victims, threats of violence, strangulation, brief mention of hunting humans, descriptions of past murders, threats of cutting with glass</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/0uPIwcT6OdJ5BAJdYkxVp9?si=_57QB3YCQFK6syMt0xl_ig">RECORD: Rock On by David Essex</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=TJS1J-zWRfK52PqYc4Nt-Q">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The old cuckoo clock in the kitchen chirped it’s 11am chirp startling Ezra out of his hunger induced haze. He’d been washing the same pyrex bowl for the last ten minutes while he zoned out and stared into that wall of pine. Josiah had been in a hell of a mood all week. He forced Ezra to stay awake the night before to clean the house from top to bottom while he sat out in the garage for the fourth night in a row drinking. Even though it was grueling to clean through the pain and hunger, Ezra was thankful for a break from the whiskey breath and bloody knuckles. From sleeping on the cold concrete of the garage when Josiah had finally tired himself out beating the hell out of him. He had a little bit of time left to rest before the arrival of his captor’s family for brunch at noon. The same family that shared Josiah’s unholy blood, the family whose wicked stories had been used to taunt him all week.<b><br/>
</b></p><p>Ezra couldn’t stop the memories of the last week that flashed through his mind. Josiah cracking his knuckles as he tells him about Herschel’s affinity for brass ones - how lucky he is that Josiah doesn’t use his set on him now. Josiah’s fists landing against his flesh in hard, wet, packing sounds that echo in the garage. Josiah’s cheery tone as he recalls Cheyenne’s favorite games to play with whoever her rabbit was at any given time. The way the cold floor felt good against the bruises to his ribs as Josiah’s boot makes contact with his exposed side over and over again. The way Josiah’s voice gets distant and sad when he talks about Turtledove as he rewinds her tape for the millionth time, the pity that drips from his whiskey drunk lips. </p><p>He hoped Josiah would have pity on him and give him human food today. On the fourth day of being starved when he knew Ezra would be desperately hungry, Josiah placed the heavy can with the smiling golden retriever on the front down on the garage floor where he was crumpled up. “If yer hungry enough you can eat this, mutt.” His captor wanted to see just how much he would degrade himself to quiet the pain of hunger rolling in his stomach. He wanted to shake his head and refuse it, but he knew he couldn’t. Ezra worried that he wouldn’t get the offer again so he nodded in resigned agreement. He sat still as Josiah removed the muzzle, relishing how harsh the cool air felt against the dried blood and sweat on his battered face. He couldn’t  help but take an instinctive breath in through his mouth as the leather was pulled away from his face, filling his lungs with chilly air despite the stab of pain that shot through his ribs. His body sore and tired, Ezra had to force his jaw open in order to accept the wet, soggy dog food being offered to him. Ezra fought the flood of tears of shame as Josiah airplaned dog food into his painfully dry mouth. “This is what you deserve mutt.” He fought the urge to gag as the smell hit him, it’s potent and sickly sweet and clearly not made to appeal to human senses. Ezra struggled to make his jaw work as he chewed and swallowed, his throat feeling thick and coarse as self pity and disgust worked their way to the surface to eagerly remind him of how miserable his new place in the world truly is. </p><p>After the incident with the eggs he forced himself to do things carefully with the impediment of the haggard duct tape splint on his left hand. He wasn’t sure his body could handle the fallout from another mistake or screw up so Ezra worked his way carefully through the house all night, making sure he didn’t give the devil another reason to punish him. Or something much worse. Finishing his tasks with an hour to spare, he allowed himself to relax a bit and try to ready himself for the day ahead. So he stood at the sink washing the same Pyrex bowl he’d been washing for almost fifteen minutes now. He thought about running while he stared into those pine trees. Ezra knew Josiah wouldn’t have left him there alone if he thought he had the strength to run. It took all his strength just to move around the house with the weight chained to his ankle. There’s no way he’d make it very far in his condition. </p><p>Ezra still had the taste of the chunks of the beef flavored mush and congealed fat in his mouth from the dog food.  Josiah had neglected to give him any water before slapping the muzzle right back on and passing out shitfaced in a fold up canvas chair. There was ice cold sink water right there cascading down his hands into the metal sink strainer. Just within his reach but completely cut off to him, the muzzle locked on his face the only barrier. Surely he could find something sharp and cut it off but the thought of Josiah’s reaction tamped that idea right back down. Ezra wasn’t sure how long he’d been crying, his tears pooling at the edge of the leather tight against his cheeks.</p><p>“Boo!” A sharp pinch to his bruised ribs shocked him forward, pulling him back to reality. The bowl slipped out of his soapy hands and broke into large pieces in the sink. Ezra was so lost in his exhausted daze he never heard the knocking at the front door. He didn’t hear the front door glass break or the soft footsteps of the tiny blond woman who now had him cornered in the kitchen. “Josie said you were a pretty one.” She cooed as she plucked a shard of glass from the sink and closed the distance between them. “Oh bless yer heart. What are you so sad about, Baby? Aren’t ya excited to meet me?” But he knew Cheyenne Boone all too well already as she starred alongside Josiah in so many of those cursed tapes. Laughing gleefully at Honeybee caught in an insidious looking bear trap, the rusty metal teeth biting deep into her calf. Her eyes sparkled with the same malicious excitement that he saw in the tapes, and Ezra couldn’t decide if he was more afraid of the hunger in her eyes or the glass in her hands as she backed him up to the end of his ankle chain. She gets in close to him, forcing him to expose his neck as she traces the soft flesh just below the leather with the pointed tip of the glass shard.“I don’t usually enjoy ‘em chained up, I like when they try to run. But I think you’ll be fun anyway,” she says with a menacing smile as she presses the sharp tip into his pulse. “I wonder what you’d sound like, bleedin’ out with a muzzle on…” Cheyenne’s gaze moved away from Ezra and a warm smile spread over her face when Josiah got home, his footsteps heavy across the front porch. </p><p>“You bust my glass again, little girl, I’ma bust ya ass.” Josiah says with a tired smile as he kicks the broken window glass from his boots into the boot tray. Cheyenne darts towards him, taking the large man down in a playful hug. Ezra’s white knuckled grip on the counter is all that kept him from falling in a heap where he stood. Not a moment to collect himself before Josiah was on him, unlocking the muzzle and hanging it up in the coat closet. “Go clean up that glass before Songbird steps in it.” Ezra picks up his block as quickly and quietly as he could, stifling a groan as he pushed his body to move. The dustpan and broom were just nearby thankfully as the kitchen was the last room he swept. He sees a truck approach on the dirt path of the driveway and his stomach rolls. Dread pools in the pit of his stomach as he watches Herschel get out of the truck, his boots crunching on the gravel and blonde hair gleaming in the bright afternoon sun. He watches Herschel let the woman out of the passenger side, his sharp eyes noticeable even from so far away. Whenever those piercing blue eyes appeared onscreen they chilled him to the bone. He can’t stop thinking of Herschel’s eyes, devoid of emotion as he tightened an electrical cord around Big Boy’s throat on the tape, his lips curled in a wicked smile as he applied enough pressure to make the man choke and sputter but not enough to cut off his air completely. He can’t stop thinking of the vicious glint in his eyes as he seemed to calculate exactly how far to push before backing off, ensuring that Big Boy would suffer long after the camcorder was stopped. </p><p>Herschel and Songbird walk in moments later through the propped open front door. Josiah gives Songbird a lopsided, distracted smile as Herschel guides her to the side, making sure she avoids stepping in the mess of glass still on the floor. She glances at the cardboard and duct tape that covers the shattered pane of glass, shaking her head a little as Josiah checks to make sure it’s covered completely.Songbird exchanges the flowers in her arms for the pot pie she prepped last night. “Where should I set this cuz?” Herschel claps the older man on the shoulder and gestures to the bouquet of hellebore Songbird picked up along the way to Josiah’s. “Dining room table’s fine.” Songbird swiftly made her way into the kitchen shooing everyone out while she got to work on fixing a home cooked meal for her family. She stopped at the sink, heartbroken at the sight of one of Mama Blevins’ treasured pyrex bowls in pieces. Her face pulls into a tight frown of disappointment, but she quickly looks up and gives Josiah an easy smile when his voice pulls her from her thoughts. “If you need anything holler.” Josiah called to Songbird as he waited for Ezra to finish putting the cleaning supplies away then ushered everyone out towards the garage so Songbird could get started on brunch.</p><p>Ezra stares at the concrete floor of the garage, his face pinched in a miserable frown as he fights the urge to panic. He can’t block out the voices surrounding him, the sharp eyes that seem to fall on him with eager intensity, and he’s waiting for one of them to inevitably turn their attention away from the whiskey and onto him. A breeze blows through from the open garage door, deepening the chill already set in Ezra’s bones. The thin cotton crew neck shirt and ragged flannel pajama pants offer little respite from the chill, each gust of winter air that drags across his skin forces Ezra to shiver involuntarily in an attempt to warm himself. “Get that bag of ice outta my trunk and put it in the cooler, mutt.” Josiah’s voice sounded gruffer than usual. Ezra raised himself from his aching knees and struggled to get to his feet, swaying a bit once upright. Cheyenne hooks his ankle with her foot and trips him, giggling as his weight lands on his kneecaps with a sickening crack that silences Herschel for a moment. Ezra clenches his teeth, setting his jaw in a hard line as he wills himself to look ahead, to not give Cheyenne the satisfaction of letting her see the fear that he knows is written all over his face, and he slowly brings himself to his feet and carefully walks around Josiah’s Trans Am. He sets the block of concrete down and opens the passenger door, dropping the ice on top of the block before painstakingly lifting it back up in shaking arms and trudging back to the garage. He feels Herschel’s eyes track him like an animal, watching every move of his battered body as he rips the bag open and pours the ice into the cooler that sits between him and Josiah. He can’t shake their stares, feeling more and more like prey as the trepidation sits heavily in his stomach. Ezra tries to focus on rearranging the cans of Steel Reserve and Budweiser, hoping that if he stays quiet and busy he won’t attract any more attention than he already has. He’s sorely in need of a break after the miserable week he’s had with Josiah, but the nervous knot in the pit of his stomach tells him that he isn’t likely to catch a break with all three of them huddled so closely around him. </p><p>Josiah glances at Cheyenne and lets out an irritated sigh, he gets up and pulls a coat off the wall, rolling his eyes as he drops it over her shoulders to cover her bare arms from the cold. She giggles and bites her lip as she watches Ezra, he tries not to look at her but catches the same predatory glimmer from before and he stiffens. She leans closer to him, her voice too sweet to be genuine. “He’s a pretty one Josie, you could string ‘im up like one a those fancy paintin’s.” She stands and glances around, making a noise of triumph when she finds what she wants. Ezra jumps when she drops a tin bucket full of fish hooks of various sizes on the ground beside him. She grins at Ezra when he looks at her, the horror plain in his eyes and only egging her on. “We could hang ‘im up right out here, fasten ‘im up in the rafters yeah?” </p><p>Her smile is devious and sly, and Ezra knows he won’t be able to avoid this as she fishes for a hook that she likes in the bucket. She holds it up for him to see, tilting her head with mock innocence as she scoots closer and watches his reaction closely. Josiah’s voice cuts through Ezra’s racing thoughts, “You wanna eat, you better stay still and take it boy.” He keens miserably as he forces himself to kneel in the middle of their little half circle, desperately trying to block out the sound of their laughter, the sharp sting of each hook as they thread it through the skin of his shoulders, the searing humiliation of being treated worse than an unwanted animal. </p><p>It isn’t long before one of them produces a length of rope and Cheyenne brandishes the hunting knife she keeps at her hip, somehow Ezra didn’t notice it before but his eyes go wide as she uses the curved tip to cut the rope at the length they want before she hands it off to Herschel. He tosses it over the rafters and the end dangles in front of Ezra, the frayed threads mocking him as they sway gently from side to side, as if the rope itself were teasingly reminding him that he wasn’t free to move even that much. He stares out the open door, longing for the ability to bolt out into the snow and reclaim his freedom. Ezra hardly registers being tugged to his feet as they thread the rope through the hooks and pull it tight, but he hisses with pain as they pull it tight and he’s forced onto his tiptoes to prevent the hooks from ripping clean through the skin of his shoulders. He can see his skin from the corners of his eyes, pulled unnaturally away from his body as the rope is secured somewhere behind him. He tries to lower himself to his heels but the feeling of hot blood oozing from the wounds in his skin as the hooks pull beyond their ability to give stops him and Ezra realizes that he has no choice but to keep himself on his toes unless he wants them to tear clean through his shoulders. He has no idea how much time passes as he jerks and twitches at the pinches to his sides, the tip of Cheyenne’s knife that someone presses threateningly into his side, the tugs at his hair, the sharp nudges at his feet from someone’s boots. He sees Songbird come through the door despite the tears blurring his vision, and the three of them quickly take a step back as she gives Ezra a disapproving glance and then gestures back inside with a smile to the others. “Be right there, darlin’,” Herschel’s voice is soft as he speaks to her. The rope is cut suddenly, catching Ezra off guard. His feet slipped slightly in the puddle of blood beneath him but Josiah steadied him so he could lift the hooks from the gaping loops of flesh. The blood soaking his back is haphazardly wiped off with a dirty towel. Ezra bit his lip when Josiah tugged at the torn skin of his shoulders in a slipshod effort to make the bleeding man more presentable for the supper table. </p><p>Everyone had already settled at the table once the two men finished up in the garage. Hunting trophies adorned the dining room walls; rabbits, fish, even a jackalope. With three deer heads at the center. Songbird knelt beside Herschel in her usual spot on the floor, settling into the hardwood like a pool of silk next to his work-worn leather boots. Josiah reached out a hand to her, guiding her to the empty chair beside Herschel. Her eyes widened with surprise but she quickly gave him a grateful smile and settled into the seat he directed her to, Herschel’s arm extended over the back of her chair possessively. Cheyenne switched to the empty seat beside Songbird before Josiah could sit, sticking her tongue out at him. He laughs and shakes his head at her but doesn’t argue, “You used to hang on your momma the same way,” he jokes with her.  He sits in the seat that Cheyenne had moved from and then snaps his fingers at Ezra and points to the floor, “Dirty mutts don’t sit at the table.” Ezra quickly eyes Songbird with jealousy and slinks down to the floor next to Josiah’s feet. </p><p>Songbird prepared a typical Sunday spread; fried okra, mashed red potatoes and a savory gravy, pot pie and the most heavenly smelling cornbread. Before they dig in, Songbird touches Herschel’s arm and gives him a soft look, a question in her eyes. Ezra can’t help but watch how they silently communicate, how Herschel seems to know exactly what she’s thinking because he sighs and clasps his hands in front of him and bows his head. He said a quick blessing, simple and easy but enough to make Songbird squeeze his arm fondly and give him a nod of approval. Cheyenne rolled her eyes and reached for the cornbread, breaking the spell of the moment and initiating the warm conversation that flowed easily between the three of them. Songbird’s smile could power a generator as she looked at her unconventional family joking with each other as they ate the meal she prepared with love.</p><p>Ezra kneels miserably as he listens to them chatter. He can’t suppress his shiver as they joke about Cheyenne’s latest Rabbit only lasting a few days - he knows them well enough to know that Rabbit isn’t a small, fluffy animal, that she’s making jokes about hunting a man that she got bored of. He can’t help but notice the blush that creeps over Songbird’s olive skin when Josiah makes a joke about Herschel proposing, and he wonders how long she’s been stuck with them, if he’ll convince himself he loves Josiah one day in order to survive. But his blood runs cold when he hears Josiah ask Cheyenne how much she remembers about Turtledove. He can’t keep his eyes on the floor, he stares at Cheyenne as she gives Josiah a wicked grin and tilts her head at him playfully, making a quip about how he must be feeling extra nostalgic this year. Songbird silences her with a look, an expression that Ezra can’t quite place, but it’s enough to make Cheyenne mutter an apology and offer Josiah condolences. She apologizes for his loss, as if she doesn’t know that Josiah drowned her in the bathtub, as if she doesn’t know that he broke Turtledove and then let her live in this miserable place until she wanted to die so badly that she didn’t fight him holding her beneath the water in the bathtub. As if she didn’t know that Josiah snuffed out her young life after making her watch him hang her husband in the oak tree out front. </p><p>When they finish eating, Songbird quietly clears the table and Ezra watches as she makes a plate and sets it on the counter. He can’t stop his stomach from clenching in hunger, but he knows better than to try to eat anything without Josiah’s permission. He watched with a defeated gaze as Songbird cut into the peach cobbler that she had baked in one of the old pyrex dishes - one that matched the dish he had shattered in the sink - and Cheyenne scooped vanilla ice cream onto each plate. Josiah ate quietly, staring at his plate with a forlorn gaze that Ezra knew would bring him nothing but trouble. But no one paid him any mind as they finished desert and Cheyenne and Herschel cleared the table. </p><p>Josiah glances down at him, irritation plain on his face as Ezra sits quietly at his feet. The look in his eyes is harsh and familiar and Ezra immediately looks to the floor, avoiding his gaze in hopes that Josiah won’t inflict any new pain on him - or worse, hand him over to either of the Boones. Josiah shoves him with the toe of his boot, digging the steel toe into Ezra’s already bruised leg as he leans over and grabs Ezra by the jaw to force him to look up at him. Josiah’s eyes are narrowed in annoyance but he keeps his voice low and even, his calm tone somehow more intimidating than anything else in that moment. “If ya wanna eat tonight,” he growls at Ezra, “ya best get in there and earn ya keep, mutt.” </p><p>Ezra’s eyes go wide as Josiah tears him to shreds with only a look and after a moment he nods. He swallows as he waits for Josiah to let go of his jaw, almost falling to the side when he’s shoved unceremoniously away from his captor. He scrambles to lift his block and hurry into the kitchen, desperate to help Songbird in whatever way he can to spare himself more of the devil’s wrath. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. "You Let Him Break You"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Songbird takes a moment to give Ezra a survival tip.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THIS IS PART THREE OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH LONESOMEHUNTER AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187187/chapters/55504210">THE DEVIL'S HIGHWAY</a>!</p><p>CONTENT WARNING: <br/>DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! Mentions of creepy/intimate whumper, whumpees interacting, caretaker whumpee, songbird caretaking, descriptions of wounds, bruises, blood</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/7gE1e9nz5axJlm26hkFuPE?si=XGGbqN-tS8qlfF_LcmodkA">RECORD: Dunes by Chequerboard</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=TJS1J-zWRfK52PqYc4Nt-Q">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Songbird glanced up as Ezra shuffled into the kitchen, carrying his cement block in a white knuckled grip that betrayed how exhausted and sore he must have been. He stood, struggling to keep hold of the block, looking at her as he waited for her to give him something to do. Despite how quiet Josiah had been, Songbird had heard him tell the battered man to earn his keep, wielding the promise of dinner against him as dangerously as any weapon. </p><p>She sighed and her gaze softened as she thought back to her early days with Herschel, suddenly filled with sympathy for Ezra as she remembered how intensely she had felt the fear and panic before things settled and she found her place in the family. She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes darted from one corner of the room to the next, obviously not wondering <em>if</em> Josiah would appear but <em>when</em>, unable to predict which moments would bring immeasurable pain and suffering but convinced that they were just around every corner.</p><p>Songbird beckoned for him to come help her at the sink, watching him shuffle across the kitchen with a patient smile. She truly looked at him, focused on him for the first time as he set down his block to the side and stood beside her at the sink, staring down at the swirling cloud of soap and bubbles in the fresh dishwater. Songbird stared for a moment, her eyes moving over the flowering bruises that painted his face in bright spatterings of deep purples, melancholy blues, pale greens, and faded yellows, some cut off in perfect lines where the muzzle had ironically protected him from the abuse Josiah had clearly reigned down on him. She surveyed his face slowly, looking for open wounds in the streaks of dried blood and smudges of dirt and grime. Her eyes moved over him the same way they moved over the page of a novel, read the history of his time with Josiah in the tear tracks that broke through the dust that clung to his skin, learned the pain and grief that bloomed in his eyes as he met her gaze in skittish glances, memorized the anxiety that threatened to overtake every slow breath he took as he stood beside her. </p><p>Ezra reached into the water and pulled out a plate, slowly running a sponge over the ceramic in concentrated circles, and Songbird could swear that she could see the pain rolling off of even the slightest twitch of his fingers. Sympathy swelled in her chest and she laid a hand on his forearm, stilling him with the touch of her hand. </p><p>“What -” he watched her with a frown as she quickly went to the dining room table and dragged a chair into the kitchen, positioning it nearby and nodding to him in a silent request to sit. </p><p>Ezra shook his head, “I can’t, I have to help…I need to eat.” </p><p>Songbird sighed again but her smile didn’t falter. She simply reached out and took the plate from his hands, set it gently back in the sink and took Ezra’s hand and gently but firmly pulled him to the chair. His eyes darted to Josiah, as if confirming that he was still sitting with his head in his hands at the table, too lost in his own grief and guilt to pay Ezra and Songbird any mind. She reached up and touched his shoulder, once again silently insisting that he sit. </p><p>Ezra shook his head but sighed in resignation and allowed her to gently push him into the chair, closing his eyes against the onslaught of anxiety that seized his chest and made him question if his heart could still beat when it felt like there was no room in him for anything but suffering. She gave his shoulder a comforting tap, reassuring him and asking him to keep still as she went to the sink and wet a dish towel with warm water. Ezra watched her intently, unable to look away from how comfortably she moved through the kitchen despite the evil that surrounded her on all sides. He wondered how she had lasted so long that even Josiah treated her like a member of the family, wondered what she had done to earn that kind of affection from him and then quickly shoved the thought aside, refusing to allow his mind to wander down that dangerous path. </p><p>She turned back to him and Ezra couldn’t help but see the soft look of sympathy that had settled on her features, and suddenly he felt like there may be someone in the world who understood the hell that he was living through, that maybe there was someone that could ease his suffering, if only the slightest bit, with a moment’s kindness, a moment of compassionate human connection. </p><p>Songbird lifted his chin with gentle hands, her touch soft but insistent. Ezra let her turn his face one way and then the other, letting her guide his movements with no resistance as he lost himself in the kind touch that he hadn’t realized he had been craving. Once she had gotten a satisfactory look at him, assured herself that she didn’t need more than a clean cloth and warm water, Songbird brushed her fingers across his forehead, tenderly pushing his hair out of his face as she offered him a comforting smile. </p><p>The warm cloth felt like heaven against his skin and Ezra closed his eyes as Songbird slowly worked it in small circles over his chafed and battered skin, gently washing away the layers of pain and neglect until she could see his bare skin again. He focused on the soothing brush of her fingertips over his skin, fluttering over the bruises like a hummingbird dancing from one blossom to the next. He relaxed into her quiet confidence, her silence somehow soothing despite knowing that it had been forced upon her just as the cement block had been forced upon him. He thought about how she had adopted her silence, just as he had resigned himself to carrying his chain and block, a condition of their survival and a symbol of their forced loyalty to the family of demons that had surely clawed their way out of Hell itself. </p><p>Ezra fought through the fog of comfort that he had lost himself in, dragged his mind back to the reality of the situation, and looked up at her with stoic curiosity. She gave him a small smile as her eyes worked over his features, the kindness of her touch seemed to wash away the memories of Josiah’s cruelty along with the lines of dirt and blood that still marked his skin in the shape of the muzzle. Despite the hours that had gone by since it was taken off, Ezra knew that Songbird could still see the perfect lines of Josiah’s handiwork in his skin. The freshly tooled leather had chafed and dug at his cheeks and jaw, hugged his mouth wrong in some places and left him raw and sensitive. The sympathetic glimmer in Songbird’s eyes made Ezra wonder if Josiah had made one to fit her at some point, if Herschel had spent weeks tormenting her with homemade contraptions and food that he wouldn’t have fed a stray dog, if she had suffered the same indignities that burned so fresh in his mind. </p><p>“How long have you been here?” </p><p>She sighed but didn’t answer him, still focused on slowly washing his face. </p><p>“Did they do all this shit to you too?” </p><p>Her movements slowed but still she stayed silent, carefully avoiding his eyes as she too softly ran the cloth over his temple and behind his ear. </p><p>Ezra frowned, sure that no one was paying attention to them, unsure of why she didn’t simply answer him. Her hands were too gentle, her touch too light, betraying the fact that she was no longer just cleaning his face. She was taking the time to offer him kindness, a gentle touch, a moment of feeling something good before Josiah’s hands were on him again. </p><p>Hopelessness bubbled in Ezra’s chest, bringing back the tight feeling that he was sure was the beginnings of a heart attack. He dragged in a breath, closing his eyes again as he struggled to ease the fire in his lungs. Ezra clung to Songbird’s touch, desperately kept his focus on the fluttering movements of her fingers as they danced over the evidence of his abuse. He chased the compassion and sympathy in her touch like a ship chased the beam of a lighthouse through a summer storm, forcing his way through his own mind to the safe harbor that her presence provided. </p><p>He sighed, resigned himself to her silence, and whispered one last, futile question into the space between them. “How did you survive this…how do I survive this?” </p><p>Songbird rested her hands on his jaw, her fingertips grazed his cheek bones as she held his face lovingly for a moment. “You learn to break for him,” she whispered almost silently. </p><p>Ezra’s eyes flew open and he stared at her in shock. Her expression hadn’t changed, she still gazed at him with a soft compassion that made Ezra want to break down and weep. He sat, open mouthed, staring at her as the shock turned to a burning desire to connect with the one person that he knew would understand his pain. “What -”</p><p>She shushed him softly and shook her head, tilting his face up a bit more to look more directly into his eyes. “You let him love you,” she whispered, “and you let him break you. That’s how you survive here.” </p><p>She carded her fingers through his hair and gave him one last smile before she went back to Josiah, leaving Ezra with a sink full of dishes and torrential downpour of thoughts as she half dragged the drunk devil out the door and down the path into the woods. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Flowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Songbird and Josiah take a walk.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THIS IS PART FOUR OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH LONESOMEHUNTER AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187187/chapters/55504210">THE DEVIL'S HIGHWAY</a>!</p><p>CONTENT WARNINGS: <br/>GORE, starvation, humiliation, hand trauma, broken bones, blood, sadistic whumper, intimate whumper, multiple whumpers, alcohol, discussions of past victims, grief for past victims, religious themes, dehumanization, unmarked graves, lady whumpee, whumpee as caretaker</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1WNRR8IKUjz6R7hVLht1qe?si=Nd50rNAAQ2CVXgkKzYqbnw">RECORD: Pretty Bird by Crooked Still</a><br/><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=TJS1J-zWRfK52PqYc4Nt-Q">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Songbird struggles to keep Josiah steady as the pair walk slowly through the dense woods, the basket of flowers in the crook of her elbow were in disarray from when the giant stumbled over a root that had breached the soil. What was normally a twenty minute walk turned into nearly forty with Josiah well past the point of drunk. The warmth of the setting sun is waning, the orange glow barely flickered through the thick trees. A brisk wind rushes past the pair making them huddle closer together as they walk deeper into the woods.</p><p>“Just a bit further, Tweetybird,” Josiah’s tone is apologetic as he leans on the petite woman for balance, tucking her into his leather jacket when he feels her shiver against him from the sudden temperature drop. The alcohol in his blood helps warm her as it radiates from his body like the hot coils of a heater that won’t turn off.</p><p>They reach the small clearing in the middle of the trees and stop at the sight of a bright pink patch of flowers surrounded by melting snow. Josiah feels the gentle push of Songbird’s tiny hand at his lower back, urging him forward. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around her shoulders, the chill is persistent and penetrating, pushing below the skin to settle on top of the nerves. The pink scar he gave her peaks out above the neckline of her shirt, a dust of freckles surround it. It’s a constant reminder of his past cruelty towards her, softened over time by her gentleness towards him. He gathers the black hellbore flowers from the basket, fixes his disheveled shirt and sets off to the final resting place of Turtledove. Buried beside her husband in deep woods, marked only by the lonely patch of fireweed planted there by Songbird on their last visit.</p><p>Songbird stays by the treeline at first, wanting to give Josiah the privacy he needs as he grieves for his beloved Turtledove. She was overjoyed when Josiah began to bring her along on this yearly trek into the woods, trusting her enough to share his grief with her. Slowly, Josiah brought her close enough to show her a side of himself even the Boones rarely saw. A man fighting a losing battle for his soul with the devil inside of him.</p><p>Josiah motions for Songbird to come closer with a wave, his eyes never leaving the grave in front of him. Her footsteps are so light she almost floats over to him, taking her place just behind him as he lowers himself to his knees and places the flowers on the grave. Holding there a moment as if he could touch her again. “I always knew you were an angel, but you didn’t deserve to get to your wings yet,” Josiah says as he looks to the sky, not the unmarked grave he put her in nearly 20 years earlier. The day he condemned what was left of his soul, the day he knew he would spend his eternal life in the flames of Hell. </p><p>Songbird begins to sing, another tradition started last visit and one that he was grateful for now. Josiah closes his eyes and listens to her song, taking every word in that he can of hers before they are locked away again. The melody carries through the trees, the moment settling over them like the haze of sunshine penetrating the canopy. Josiah can’t help but notice the unusual silence in the woods around them, like even the wildlife were showing reverence and respect for the solemn prayer that her voice held. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly, fly away</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And pretty you’ll always stay</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I see in your eyes a promise</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your own tender love you’ll bring</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cold runneth the spring</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love’s own tender flames warm this meeting</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And love’s tender song you sing</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And pretty you’ll always sing</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I cannot make you no promise</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love is such a delicate thing</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For he’d only clip your wings</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly, fly away</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And pretty you’ll always stay</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly far beyond the dark mountain</em>
</p><p>
  <em>To where you’ll be free evermore</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fly away little pretty bird</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Where the cold winter winds don’t blow</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Tweetybird,” he says as he stands and turns to her, his weary, bloodshot eyes brimming with tears. She reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket still around her shoulders and pulls out his metal flask, taking a swig herself before handing it to him, taking the deep burn of the liquor like a champ. “Well damn girl,” Josiah says, sounding surprised then letting out a lighthearted chuckle from deep in his belly. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.” He takes a swig and pours one over her grave, stopping for a last look until next year’s visit. “Let’s head back yonder. Gonna be dark soon,” Josiah yawns and tucks Songbird back under his arm. Leaving behind his greatest regret until he makes the trek again next year.</p><p>"Where the hell is it?” Herschel mumbles to himself as he flips through his older cousin’s vinyls. Unlike Herschel’s plastic crates stuffed full of records, Josiah keeps each record carefully preserved in a plastic dust cover. Flipping and flipping through the immense collection Josiah had curated over the course of a lifetime was making Herschel break into a sweat as he squatted down next to it. Some were from Josiah’s Mama. Some were given to him as gifts over the years. A few precious records were from Papaw Blevin’s prized collection. Most had come from the swap meets and thrift stores he frequented regularly.</p><p>
  <em>Patsy. Loretta. Hank. Dolly. Charlie Pride.</em>
</p><p>“Ah! Found it!” Elvis: Promised Land. Herschel slides the record from the sleeve and places it on the turntable. Careful not to scratch or scuff Papaw’s favorite vinyl that he and Josiah have shed blood over more than once. The only possession of Papaw Blevins that either man ever cared about. Making sure it was safe before letting the rest of his possessions burn with the miserable house they were stored in. </p><p>Ezra groans from across the room where Cheyenne has had him pinned face down and straddling him on the carpet for the last half hour. Too weak to struggle against her grip, she keeps him pinned with ease. Not that he would move otherwise with Herschel just a few feet away. His sinister presence is enough to keep Ezra in line, keep him too scared to make any wrong moves. Not that Cheyenne is any better. He’s witnessed her brutally often enough on the tapes to know that she’s perfectly capable of outdoing the boys in terror without question. Her fingertips dance across the new bruises and older mottled ones. Pressing down hard on the nastier looking ones she sees and savoring Ezra’s pained cries of agony as she shifts her weight around on top of him, putting pressure on his bruised ribs.</p><p>“Josie must really like ya if ya ain’t got any marks on ya too bad yet.” She cooed and pondered what he’d look like with a few more deep cuts here and there. She eyes the loose loops of flesh on his shoulders where the hooks were pushed through and stretched painfully as he hung from them. </p><p>
  <em>Lord Almighty I feel my temperature rising…</em>
</p><p>Elvis blares through the tall record player speakers, drowning out all of Ezra’s horse screams while Cheyenne tugs on the abused hanging flesh. Making sure to dig her fingers nice and deep into the open wounds. Satisfied with his song choice, Herschel steps over the pair on his way back to the captain’s chair. Picking up his whiskey from the coffee table and settling for the fun.</p><p>The white hot pain is what makes Ezra’s voice finally break, turning his screams into a silent wail. He can hear the blonde maniac above him giggle, laughing at his inaudible cries. </p><p>“Oh quit yer belly achin’. It ain’t that bad.” </p><p>He makes a feeble attempt to push himself up in an effort to get her off but she easily overpowers him. Too weak from starvation and relentless beatings, he’s easily pushed back down and pinned to the carpet by his wrists.  </p><p>“Looks like the poor puppy made Josie mad.” Cheyenne grabs his wrist, turning it to look at the shitty duct tape split that was caked with grime and was well past needing to be changed out. Ezra sees them exchange a look over  his shoulder, both of the siblings looking down at him in damn near unison. She returns his wrist back to the carpet, giving Herschel easy access.</p><p>“Think Josiah will get cross if he can’t use both hands now?” That crooked wolfish grin of his chills Ezra to the bone.</p><p>“Guess we’ll have to see.” Cheyenne says encouragingly. </p><p>Ezra shakes his head furiously until it’s yanked back and he’s forced to watch. Herschel leans back in his chair with his whiskey, positioning the heel of his boots on both of Ezra’s hands. Slowly he begins to grind them into the carpet, putting the most pressure on his previously injured hand. The sickening crunch of bones is what sends Ezra over the edge, making him pass out entirely. Just fading into the blissful dark. He hears a disappointed Cheyenne in his ear, her complaints about his pain tolerance fading as he goes.</p><p>“You gettin’ blood all over my carpet again little girl?” Josiah’s words come out a bit slurred.</p><p>“Who has carpet in a basement anyway?” Cheyenne smiles as she wipes her bloody fingers on the back of Ezra’s ruined cotton shirt.</p><p>The added presence in the basement is what wakes Ezra back up. He sees Josiah at the bottom of the stairs through barely cracked eyelids, Songbird is too not far behind him shrugging her jacket off and putting it on the arm of Herschel’s seat. Relief washes over Ezra when the duo’s attention shifts to the pair, leaving him alone on the floor in a flash.  </p><p>“I see you got your grubby hands on my stuff again.” Josiah lumbers over to the record player and carefully removes the Elvis vinyl. Placing it back in it’s sleeve like it’s made of paper thin glass. Songbird slips upstairs while the cousins continue their bickering. </p><p>Moments later everyone emerges from the basement into the living room, Ezra trailing behind them at his own pace as he tries to collect himself before Josiah demands something from him again. Whether it’ll be pain or pleasure is a coin toss. </p><p>When he finally reaches the kitchen he kneels in the corner out of the way, just hoping to go unnoticed for a moment while he tries not to bleed on the floor. </p><p>Songbird gives Herschel a signal to wait for her while he and Cheyenne step out on the front porch to enjoy the chilly night air after saying their goodbyes to Josiah. The open screen door sends a chill straight to Ezra, clad only in the thin shirt and pants he was given, the blood soaked clothes make him shiver dreadfully.</p><p>Songbird leads Josiah into the dining room and brings him to the steaming plate she set there, a tall glass of sweet tea beside it. She looks over her shoulder towards the kitchen where Ezra is kneeling and trying to keep himself upright. She turns back to Josiah imploringly. Feed the poor boy.</p><p>“I’ll let him eat Tweetybird. I promise.” She stands up on her tiptoes and he meets her halfway, giving him a peck on the cheek before heading out the door where Herschel was waiting patiently for her. Cheyenne’s tail lights are already halfway down the driveway. A final wave goodbye and the house is finally quiet. </p><p>“Come here Baby.” Josiah lets out a whistle that startles Ezra out of his fog in the kitchen. He tries to whine but nothing comes out but a sad whistle. By the time he stands, his face is red with exertion but he manages it and crosses into the dining room where Josiah is waiting by the dining room table. </p><p>
  <em>How the hell is he still conscious, let alone standing upright?</em>
</p><p> Josiah pulls out the chair for him and gestures for him to sit, right where Songbird laid dinner out for him. The table is set for one. Josiah takes the seat beside him, giving Ezra’s leg a squeeze before giving him the go ahead to dig in. The Boone’s ensured that eating with silverware would be an impossible task. Ezra tries to get his less mangled fingers to curl around the fork but he fumbles and it clatters on the plate shattering the silence between the two men.</p><p>He quickly looks up at Josiah, mouthing sorry sorry sorry in a panic, sure that punishment was coming. Just like many innocuous infractions had previously. Not moving fast enough. Not getting his breakfast how he likes. Any slight protest or complaint no matter how small would mean some kind of discipline.</p><p>“Here, let me.” Josiah puts some green beans on the fork and airplanes it in. Ezra feels like he’s reliving that first morning of his new terrifying reality here. </p><p>The beans were cooked in bacon grease and he’d never been so happy to eat green beans in his entire life. There are probably the best he’s ever had. Eagerly he waits for another bite. Hopefully it’s the cornbread next. </p><p>“Not so fast. We can’t have you gettin’ sick now.” Josiah takes two fingers and gathers a small fluffy pile of mashed potatoes and gravy on them. </p><p>Ezra doesn’t fight it. His stomach is empty and the food looks so divine. Despite the humiliating delivery method, he opens his mouth without hesitation and sucks the potatoes off of the fingers of the man who has made him into nothing more than an object to use at his leisure. Something to discard at will.</p><p>Ezra locks whatever shame he has left in a hidden compartment deep inside himself for now. Songbird’s whispered words from earlier stick in his mind as he relishes the taste of actual human food. </p><p>
  <em>‘You let him love you and you let him break you.’</em>
</p><p>He will play the part of the man’s plaything, companion, punching bag and lover as long as he has to. Long enough to get out. Long enough to survive.</p><p>“I’m sorry for getting so angry, Baby.” Josiah says quietly as he strokes Ezra’s chin after feeding him a big bite of the pot pie. </p><p>Ezra gets in only a few more bites in before Josiah takes it away, promising him a bowl of hot grits in the morning. “Remember now, you have to take it slow.” </p><p>Josiah takes him out to the garage again that night but doesn’t hurt him, just carefully re splints his hand and then carries him upstairs to their bed. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. "I Want To Hear You"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Explicit NSFW intimacy, Herschel and Songbird have a little fun...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNING: <br/>DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! NSFW, lady whumpee, intimate whumper, dubcon, dubcon touching, begging, dubcon orgasm, bound by ropes, wrists tied with rope, restrained, restrained to headboard</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1pV3J1Zk5mh20ncHiGlPhe?si=3xcrHSIKS-yQHK8QgFjrLw">RECORD: I Want It by Two Feet</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=TJS1J-zWRfK52PqYc4Nt-Q">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bright red rings of burning flesh adorned Songbird’s wrists, the stripes of chafed skin peeking out from under the coarse ropes that kept her wrists bound to the headboard, her arms extended over her head. She felt her curls tickle the skin between her shoulder blades as she shifted on her stomach, the anticipation making it impossible to keep herself still. Herschel knelt comfortably between her knees, keeping her legs open so that she was vulnerable and exposed to his every whim. </p><p>He pressed soft, wet kisses to her spine, working his lips down her back as she tensed and pulled against the ropes keeping her hands where he wanted them. He dragged his hand down her side, his fingertips fluttering over her ribcage so she inhaled sharply and quivered under his touch. He smirked at the goosebumps that raced across her skin as his beard brushed over the soft, unmarked skin of her back. He  moved his hand over her hip and to the small of her back, his fingers dipped into the dimples at either side of her lower back, his calloused palm pressed to her spine and moved slowly up the line of her back and into her hair. </p><p>He gripped the back of her neck, stilled her with a silent command, and slipped his fingers between her legs. She let out a surprised whine at the sudden onslaught of sensation that ripped through her stomach and sent shockwaves up her body. She bit her lip and tensed, acutely aware of her mistake as the sound of her pleasure filled the silence between them. </p><p>Herschel’s grip on her neck tightened, his touch firm but not yet punishing, and he smiled as he bit the soft skin of her back and sucked until Songbird whimpered and squirmed. He worked her tender flesh between his teeth until she cried out in pain and moved to close her legs on either side of his knees, her body reacting on its own to the overwhelming sensations. She shifted, pulled at the ropes despite the ache in her arms and the burn in her wrists. </p><p>A pleased smile settled on Herschel’s face as Songbird’s breathing grew heavy, her chest tight with the strain of not using her voice even as Herschel coaxed more and more from her body. He nipped at the soft skin just below her shoulder blades, worked the pad of one finger in a slow circle at the far edges of her clit. He was pleased at how she jumped at the change of his touch, how she relaxed into the waves of pleasure that he skillfully pushed through her delicate body. Despite her efforts, he heard the whisper of a moan escape from the back of her throat and Herschel brushed his finger directly over her clit to drag another involuntary whine of needy pleasure from her. </p><p>“Sing, Songbird,” he said softly, his lips brushing over her soft skin. “Be a good girl and sing for me, I want to hear you.” </p><p>He worked his fingers in tighter circles, pressing directly on her clit as Songbird let go of the tight grip of control she kept over her voice. She moaned softly, turning her face into her arm as another ripple of goosebumps crawled over her body. He teased relentlessly, coaxed every moan and whimper he could from her, carefully dragged her closer and closer to the edge of her pleasure. Songbird’s body tightened, coiled at the agonizingly slow build up, and she lost herself in a string of ragged moans and breathless whining.</p><p>His fingers teased at the spots he knew were most sensitive, deliberately circling the sweet spot that Herschel knew she needed him to touch in order to reach her climax. Songbird arched her back in a long, graceful line, lifting her hips in an attempt to feel him where she needed him most. </p><p>The needy rise of her hips was met with a husky chuckle and Herschel spoke tenderly against her skin, still pressing soft kisses to her back to punctuate every few words. “That won’t get you what you want baby,” he kissed up her back and over her neck, touching his lips to her ear as Songbird shivered and another whimper slipped from her lips. She turned her head to him and lifted her chin, offering him access to her throat as he dipped a finger inside of her. Songbird responded with a long, high pitched moan and Herschel closed his lips over her pulse, greedily tasting her sweet tremor as she started to unravel beneath him. Her breathing was little more than broken panting, each exhale reminiscent of a quiet plea for more as she tugged at the coarse, unforgiving bindings anchoring her wrists to the old, metal frame. She pushed up on her elbows, tried to press her back to his chest, tried to feel more of him as he slid his fingers into her hair and gripped her auburn curls to pull her head back a little further. </p><p>He dragged his teeth down the side of her throat and flicked his tongue over a small cluster of freckles on her shoulder. He curled his finger inside of her, caressing her inner walls and teasing her overly sensitive clit with the rough pad of his finger as Songbird gasped and whined. She closed her eyes at the insistent pull of his hand in her hair, the sensations fusing together in a blur of pleasure and pain that forced her onto the knife’s edge of her pleasure. Her powerless cry of heightened pleasure washed over them both and Herschel felt her fight the ropes at her wrists as she worked her hips harder against his hand. Her skin flushed with shameful pleasure as she used him to bring herself higher into the rapture that he created. </p><p>Songbird almost sobbed at the feeling of shattered pleasure as Herschel moved away from her clit entirely and instead focused on slipping another finger inside of her and moving at a deliberate, intense pace. He smiled as she shuddered and whined again, her beautiful voice tempting him to give in to her desires. “I want you to beg for it my pretty Songbird,” he said in a low voice, his breath ghosting over her ear. “Tell me what you want, tell me how much you need it.” </p><p>Songbird gasped when his finger pressed hard to her clit, rubbing tight, demanding circles that sent her nerves into overdrive and sent her hurtling back to the cliff that Herschel never failed to keep her balanced on. </p><p>“Please -” she moaned, rolling her hips as effectively as she could from her restrained position. “Please, please, Herschel,” she keened with a shallow breath, every word a high pitched whine as she reveled in the waves of pleasure that he forced through her. “Please Herschel, I can’t - I can’t take it, <em>please</em>…”</p><p>She moaned at the rush of renewed sensation as he rewarded her with the slightest bit of added pressure, careful to stave off the climax she desperately wanted. She felt sparks low in her stomach as her pleasure became almost unbearable, her heightened arousal rising to levels that Songbird felt pushing her to levels of despair that she hadn’t reached before. </p><p>“Herschel,” she whimpered, his name tumbling sweetly from her lips as she trembled beneath him. “Please Herschel,” she begged fervently, her voice cracking with the effort it took to string her words into a coherent plea for release. “Please, I’m begging you, please Herschel, please, I -” her breath hitched in her throat as her heart raced, the sound of her pulse raging in her ears like the angry waves of an ocean in a storm. “<em>Please</em>…” </p><p>He smiled at the emotionally charged pitch of her voice, and he breathed over her skin to watch her shiver almost violently as he pushed her closer and closer to her breaking point. </p><p>“Are you going to be a good girl for me, my little Songbird?” </p><p>She nodded eagerly, practically sobbing at the tension pooling low in her hips. “Yes, yes…Please, I’ll be good, please -” she cried out as his nipped at her shoulder with his teeth, giving the ropes a hard pull as Herschel touched her clit just right and touched something deep inside of her, pulling her past the precipice of her pleasure and into an overwhelming orgasm. </p><p>“That’s right my sweet Songbird, cum for me,” he murmured against her shoulder. She chased the wave of fire through her body, her muscles going rigid as it consumed her like flames devouring dry grass in hot summer. Herschel didn’t stop the  movement of his fingers, commanding her body to give in to the devastating climax that he had so carefully inflicted on her. </p><p>He littered her back with slow, lingering kisses as she came down from the brutal intensity and floated in the fog that followed her orgasm. When her muscles finally softened, her body too exhausted to do more than submit to him, he moved his hands slowly up the length of her arms and loosened the rope at her wrists. He held her forearms gently and pulled her back to his chest, rolling to his side so she was tucked into the cage of his embrace as her body went limp and her eyes fluttered closed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Static</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Herschel and Liam play a game.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNING: <br/>russian roulette, gun play, revolver, thoughts of death, sadistic games, sadistic whumper, violent whumper</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/28cnXtME493VX9NOw9cIUh?si=B79R9pTjSwmw1DmDw-G2jQ">RECORD: Hurt by Johnny Cash</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5PHkmkjskQVWFrZEcqijCc?si=TJS1J-zWRfK52PqYc4Nt-Q">Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The press of cold metal against the bare skin of his back startled Liam out of his restless, aching sleep. It took a moment for him to come to full awareness but the unmistakable sound of Johnny Cash drifting up from the record player quickly settled low in his stomach like a stone, like a stone weighted down with his own dread. He opened his eyes to see Herschel’s shadow looming over him, stretching across the floor in a dark mimicry of his muscular shoulders and long hair. Liam imagined that this was what it would feel like to see a tsunami rising from the sea, to be paralyzed with fear as death itself prepared to crash over him, to break him, to consume him completely. </p><p>“Rise and shine, sweet pea,” Herschel said, pressing the metal to his back again. “Come on, now. Time to get up, I gotcha somethin’.” </p><p>Liam rolled his eyes at the sing-song tone in his voice. It had become a sort of tell, a signal that Herschel had some sadistic, twisted idea rolling around in his head and that he planned to inflict it on Liam. He often wondered if Songbird heard that same, smug chorus of malicious excitement when she was the target, if he tormented her in the same patterns that he tormented him. Liam wondered if she suffered in the same manner or if Herschel reserved an entirely different brand of sadism for the woman that he had so efficiently silenced. </p><p>The metal pressed into his back again, but harder this time so that Liam had to arch his back to escape the sudden pain, despite the pain that still radiated through his stomach and ribs when he moved suddenly. “Come on, up an’ at ‘em Sweet Pea!”</p><p>He huffed and rolled over, his eyes barely open as he tenderly moved to rest on his back. “Would you go fuck yourself, you overgrown -” </p><p>The shine of the morning sun on the barrel of a revolver silenced him instantly, the groggy insult suddenly forgotten as Herschel grinned down at him. Liam scrambled backwards, as far as the chain attached to his heavy, leather collar would allow. The only thing that registered in his mind was the instinct to get as far away from that gun as possible, none of his sarcasm or anger escaped the blockade of overpowering need to regain the illusion of safety he’d had a few moments ago. His breath came in heavy, fearful pants as his eyes skipped from the gun to Herschel’s grin and back to the revolver again. </p><p>“Aw, come on,” Herschel said, his voice heavy with amusement. “Finish what you were sayin’.”</p><p>Liam swallowed, his throat closing as fear crept through his senses, his already heavy breathing becoming more labored with every second that passed. He willed himself to respond, desperately fought to make his voice work, to not let Herschel win. But his words were frozen in his chest and only a choked croak of anxiety made it to the surface. </p><p>Herschel grinned triumphantly, his obvious enjoyment hitting Liam like a slap in the face. “Well, shit. If I’d known it would’a been this easy to shut ya up, I’d’a done this a long time ago. Even Songbird wasn’t this easy to keep quiet so early on.” </p><p>The mention of Songbird’s imposed silence made anger flare in Liam’s chest, overtaking the fear and tempting him to bite back. But the revolver still dominated his vision and Liam couldn’t bring himself to risk Herschel seeking a permanent form of punishment for whatever insult came to the surface first. </p><p>“I got a game I wanna play t’day, you up for a bit o’ fun?”</p><p>Liam set his jaw and said nothing, determined to keep silent in hopes that it would somehow keep him safe from whatever was going on in Herschel’s twisted brain. </p><p>“I’ll just take that as a yes.” </p><p>Herschel stood, his grin still pinned in place as he towered over Liam for a moment. The satisfaction of watching his foul mouthed little play toy sitting quietly for once, frozen in fear with eyes glued on the weapon in his hand was impossible to ignore. The revolver wasn’t his favorite weapon, in fact he didn’t care for it much at all, but it would be foolish not to take advantage of the response it never failed to elicit from his captives. Herschel hadn’t been sure Liam would be scared like the others were, he wasn’t sure the fool had an inkling of self preservation telling him to shut up. But the danger of the polished silver revolver won out over pride and stubbornness yet again, leaving it with a perfect record of silencing every single person that came face to face with it. </p><p>The smooth, gentle melody of the old country music carrying across the vinyl did nothing to sooth Liam’s nerves as Herschel pulled up a chair, dropping the feet on the floor with a clatter that reverberated through the room. He sat with his elbows on his knees, leaned forward to invade the precious little space that Liam was able to put between them. He stared at the revolver for a moment, turning it over in his hands with complete confidence that Liam wouldn’t lunge forward to try and snatch it. It was clear to them both who owned the space, who commanded the long stretch of silence that hovered between them. </p><p>Herschel sighed, the soft sound of his long exhale breaking the spell that had settled over them and looked at Liam. He relished his wide eyed expression, the obvious fear that had taken up residence on his features, the way his eyes tracked even the smallest movement of Herschel’s hands. He knew that Liam would see the way he gripped the gun a little tighter, settling the cool metal in his palm as his finger caressed the trigger, teasing Liam with the potential of these being his last moments. </p><p>“My Papaw gave me this, told me it was the most reliable gun he ever owned. Never jammed on ‘im, never misfired.” His grin widened, the crooked tilt of his lips more noticeable as Liam looked up at him from this angle. “And Papaw never missed nothin’ with it, a track record I proudly share with ‘im.” </p><p>Liam set his jaw and forced himself to take a breath. Herschel’s quiet confidence was grating on his nerves and his voice was quickly returning to full function. “Pretty easy to aim when your target is chained to the floor, huh?”</p><p>“There ya are!” Herschel laughed, the hearty, robust sound of pure enjoyment almost comically mismatched to Liam’s tone. “Thought I lost ya for a second there, Sweet Pea.”</p><p>He flicked the cylinder of the revolver open and poured the bullets into his hand. He rolled them back and forth over his palm for a moment, looking at them with a fondness that Liam almost wanted to laugh at. </p><p>“Anyway, like I was sayin’,” he glanced up at Liam for a moment, his eyes full of quiet warning for Liam to let him finish. “I’ve had this gun almos’ my whole life now, and I never have had much fun with it. Guns ain’t really my thing, I like to use my hands if I can.” Herschel leaned down and slowly set the bullets up in a line between his feet, standing them on their flat ends so that they pointed straight up. </p><p>Liam watched him closely, forced his breathing to stay steady and calm, tried to keep his mind from fogging over with fear as his thoughts screamed that he was going to die staring down the barrel of that gun. </p><p>Herschel held the sixth bullet up for Liam to see, the lead balanced between the tips of his thumb and forefinger like he was presenting a delicate treasure that required preservation and protection. “Ya know what we’re gonna do with this here bullet?” </p><p>Liam swallowed the lump in his throat, but his dread didn’t fade. It simply moved to settle like a stone in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>He shook his head slowly and Herschel tsk-ed at him with mocking disappointment. “Come on, you ain’t gonna guess?” </p><p>Liam could hear his accent thickening, his excitement overshadowing the obvious effort he put into speaking without the tell-tale twang of the Appalachians. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that the more of Herschel’s roots showed in his speech, the more pain he was going to endure. And he’d yet to hear his accent quite so pronounced as that moment. </p><p>“Well, ya wanna take all the fun outta it, I’ll just tell ya. It’s gon’ be fun for me either way ya know.” </p><p>Herschel slid the bullet into one of the holes in the cylinder and spun the mechanism, the sound of the mechanism twirling for a few seconds before Herschel flicked it closed and it clicked into place bringing the crooked smile back to his face. “I ain’t ever played Russian Roulette, always did want to though. But I keep hearin’ how stupid it is, how unsafe.” He grinned at Liam, watching the blood drain from his face as his last inklings of hope were chased away. “So I’m gon’ play with you. Can’t risk killin’ myself, leavin’ Songbird alone. And she’d kill me if she saw me pointin’ a gun at m’self. But you, ain’t nothin’ wrong with pointin’ a gun at you now, is there?” </p><p>Liam opened his mouth to respond, to protest, even to beg. But he couldn’t manage more than a small croaking sound, a hollow whisper of the fear that was pulsing in his veins. There was a bullet in one of the chambers of that revolver, and there was no way to know which one. Never before had he prayed so hard for Herschel to be fucking with him, for it to be some sick joke meant to terrorize him. But the unwavering look of determined enjoyment in his icy blue eyes erased any doubt Liam had of how serious he was. </p><p>Liam shrank into himself as he pointed the gun at him and clicked the hammer back. </p><p>There’s a bullet in one of those chambers. </p><p>He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, almost completely convinced that Herschel had rigged the game so that he’d be shot right then. He jumped at the sharp metallic click as he pulled the trigger and the hammer fell forward only to strike against nothing. Liam sat, frozen for a moment before the realization that he was still alive dawned on him. He opened his eyes and looked up at Herschel, trying to focus on his face despite the bright silver of the gun still pointed at him, the unfocused shine of metal blurring his vision. </p><p>Herschel grinned and cocked a brow at him. “Beginner’s luck, huh?” </p><p>He pulled the hammer back and Liam frowned, suddenly panicked. “You - you’re supposed to spin it again.”</p><p>Herschel nodded, aiming the revolver square at his chest. “I know, but I don’ want this goin’ on forever.” He winked at him and leaned forward, “It’s nice to see you wantin’ to play for once but I don’ have all day to spend with ya, Sweet Pea.” </p><p>Liam’s chest tightened painfully, every breath burning as if he were inhaling toxic fumes. He tried to quickly think through the odds that he’d survive another round, or another after that. If was lucky the next chamber would be empty, but he knew that - with the very best of luck - he would only survive four more rounds of the twisted game before the inevitable bullet in the chamber. </p><p>The hollow click of the revolver echoed in his mind and Liam jumped again, his muscles involuntarily twitching in response to the jolt of fear and instant crashing wave of relief at the lack of pain, lack of blood, lack of death. </p><p>“Two in a row! Got some luck in ya today, don’tcha?” Liam refused to look up at him, afraid that he would lose the last threads of his composure if he saw the obvious glee on Herschel’s face. </p><p>The hammer fell into place again, the sound of metal sliding over metal setting his nerves on edge as he waited, prayed, as if suspended in the moment. “What do ya think, Sweet Pea?” Herschel’s voice was low and eager, adding to the fear and anxiety that were knotting in his mind and keeping him from forming a coherent thought. “Ya think the third time’s the charm?” </p><p>Liam’s heart stopped in his chest as the hammer clicked forward and a gunshot burst into the air. He choked on a gasp of air as he waited for the pain to rip through him, as he mentally searched his body for where he had been shot. He was sure he was dead, thrust violently into whatever came after death, his body nothing more than a mess of blood and tissue at Herschel’s feet. </p><p>Everything was still for a moment until Herschel’s laugh cut through the tension and Liam’s eyes flew open. He stared as Herschel laughed, watching him double over with laughter as Liam took stock of his body and reassured himself that he was fine. He slowly raised a hand to his face, his throat, his chest, convinced himself that he was still in one piece as the sound of cruel laughter filled the silence around him. </p><p>“You -” Herschel sat up and looked at Liam, still chuckling, “You shoulda seen your face. Absolutely worth wastin’ my time down here.” </p><p>“What the fuck…” </p><p>Liam watched as Herschel collected the bullets still lined up at his feet and held his hand out for him to look closely at them. “Blanks, Sweet Pea. I ain’t gonna waste a bullet on ya, and I ain’t gonna put ya down like a rabid dog unless ya really earn it. Just wanted to have a bit o’ fun with ya.”</p><p>Liam felt relief flood through his body, his muscles loosening as the tension and fear slipped away and anger filled the empty spaces. His voice was still weak with strain and the remnants of his anxiety. “What the <em>fuck</em> is wrong with you… I thought - you almost - <em>you could have fucking killed me you jackass!</em>”</p><p>Herschel grinned at Liam’s outburst, openly pleased with his reaction. “Ah, come on Sweet Pea. It ain’t all that bad. You’re alive, ain’tcha?” </p><p>Liam shook his head, mouth hanging open in disbelief as Herschel got up and walked away, still chuckling. The static of the record player hovered around him as the edge of the vinyl kept spinning under the needle. </p>
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